


and you're semi-sweet

by lestered



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2020-12-16 00:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestered/pseuds/lestered
Summary: Dan Howell didn’t have a best friend for the first eighteen years of his life. It’s not until he goes to university and meets the boy across the hall, Phil, that he begins to understand what it feels like to matter to someone.That’s great and all, but when he finds out that Phil's gay, he starts to understand something else about himself; something he’s been trying to ignore for a very long time.***currently on hiatus***





	1. Chapter 1

He finds out on a frigid Saturday morning in November. 

Dan wakes up with a splitting headache, an awful taste in his mouth, and a bone-deep chill, the last of which means the heating’s gone out overnight again. He’s shivering, all but naked under his thin duvet, and he vaguely recalls stripping down to his underwear before crawling into bed after the club last night. He regrets that a lot now.

That’s his first thought of the morning - cursing himself out for his lack of foresight.

His second thought is about Phil. 

Phil comes to mind because he has a space heater and a bed piled with blankets, because he gets easily cold and he’s actually _ from _ the north, and so he didn’t do any of the gross underestimating Dan had done about how freezing Manchester could actually get.

Phil is also a very generous sharer, so he doesn’t have to think much before darting out of his bed, throwing on the closest hoodie and pair of sweatpants he can find and skittering across the hall. He can’t be bothered trying to find a pair of socks to wear. He’s pretty sure they’re all dirty, anyway.

He doesn’t knock first, because Phil’s always got his door unlocked. So he’s surprised to feel the doorknob jam up on him when he tries to turn it. 

That’s unusual. 

Phil locks his door when he’s going out, and he did go out with them last night. He just didn’t come home with them. Dan hadn't thought much of it at the time, though. Phil hates nightclubs and it’s not uncommon for him to dip out early, once their mates are all too wasted to really care about keeping track of each other.

Dan goes with him sometimes if he catches him on his way out, because he’s a bit more adept at clubbing, but he’d still rather spend his time housing down kebabs and beating Phil at Mario Kart from the comfort of his own bed.

He also likes Phil a lot better than he likes the rest of their hallmates. Or... anyone, really.

“Phil?” He calls hesitantly, and taps on the door.

No response. 

He knocks again, this time more aggressively. "Phiiiiiiiiiiiil," he calls a little louder. 

The answering silence makes him uneasy when he realizes he didn’t actually see Phil leave last night. He doesn't know how drunk he might’ve been, if he was sober enough to find his way back or if anyone dodgy was lurking outside. His heart’s starting to actually speed up when he lifts his hand to knock again, only to hear a thump on the other side of the door, followed by what sounds like hurried stumbling and muttered cursing. 

“Dan,” Phil seems weirdly out of breath when he bursts out of his bedroom door and into the hall, shutting it behind him immediately and leaning back against it. His eyes are wide and startled, his hair messier than usual and he’s dressed in nothing but a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms.

Seems ill-advised, given how freezing it is in the hall. He can see goosebumps beginning to rise up all over Phil’s arms. Phil doesn’t seem to notice, though.

“What…” Phil glances down the hallway in both directions before looking back at Dan. He looks a bit more composed now. “Why are you here?”

The question takes him aback. He’s never really had a specific reason for going into Phil’s room, and Phil’s never acted like he needed one. But Phil’s eyes are searching his face and it’s quite disconcerting. 

“Um, the heating’s out again?” He replies after some mental fumbling. He’s not sure why it comes out sounding like a question instead of a statement, since it's so obviously true. It’s only then that Phil seems to notice the goosebumps littering his bare skin, register how cold he is, and quickly wrap his arms around himself as if that'll help. 

Dan waits for him to put two and two together and usher him inside, but he doesn’t. So he continues. “So I was gonna sit by your space heater.”

Phil blinks at him a couple times and worries his bottom lip in between his teeth. He looks like he’s thinking really hard about a very simple prospect and it’s getting annoying, mostly because Dan’s bare feet are starting to go numb.

“Look, are you alright? I know your brain doesn’t work before your morning Nescafe but you’re acting like you’re on something.” 

“I’m fine,” Phil answers quickly. “It’s just…” He shudders and glances around. “Fuck, you’re right, it’s cold. Um…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before the door he’s leaning on opens up behind him and he nearly falls on his ass, but rights himself after a few backward stumbles. Dan would be impressed with such an uncharacteristic display of coordination, if he weren't so focused on who opened Phil’s door in the first place. 

The guy’s tall. He's taller than the both of them which doesn’t happen often, and he’s tanned and ripped. He's naked save for the tight red briefs stretched across his hips, with shaggy blonde hair and what Dan thinks are blue eyes, but he can’t quite tell because the guy’s rubbing them sleepily. 

He’s... hot. Just objectively, very hot. There's no getting around that. 

Phil's bright pink in the face when Dan looks back over at him, flushed down his neck and even onto his chest. The guy doesn’t seem to notice as he leans against the doorframe, his gaze still bleary when he looks at Phil. 

“Why’d you get up?” He asks, and reaches out to tug Phil closer by the waistband of his pyjama pants. Phil goes to him easily. “It’s… fuck,” He says, and blinks harder, seeming to come to his senses a bit more when his hand moves from Phil’s waistband to rest instead on his hip. “Why's it so cold out here?”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He’s looking at Dan with what looks like a mixture of apprehension and guilt and… maybe fear. He hopes he’s just imagining that bit. 

“Heating’s out.” He finally croaks when Phil stays silent. It’s only then that the guy seems to notice his presence at all, head jerking over in his direction and his eyes widening. 

“Oh, shit,” he ruffles a hand through his hair when he locks eyes with Dan. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t see you there.”

“Dan, this is Sam,” Phil’s voice sounds almost foreign to Dan when he finally speaks up. “Sam, this is Dan. I guess you guys haven’t met yet.”

_ No shit, _ Dan wants to say, _ since when are you spending your Saturday mornings with guys who look like they stepped straight out of Playgirl? _

He doesn’t say that. Instead, he returns the short nod that Sam gives him in acknowledgement and looks away when he sees him press his lips to Phil’s bare, smooth shoulder. “Come back to bed,” He hears him mumble. He doesn’t hear what Phil mumbles in return, but then there’s the _ click _of the door closing and when he looks up it’s just Phil again, backed up against the door and looking not unlike a helpless, cornered animal. That makes Dan think he may not have been imagining that fear in Phil's eyes before. He really doesn’t like that.

He opens his mouth even though he has no idea what he’s supposed to say, just because the silence is bordering on painful. 

“I’ll see you later, Dan.” Phil cuts him off before he can come up with anything, and in a matter of seconds he’s alone in the hallway again. The door clicks shut when Phil slips back inside his room and the sound echoes around in Dan's head. 

He stares at the door for longer than he probably should, then turns and pads back to his own bedroom.

He’s not sure what exactly is making him feel so uneasy.

*

Eva phones him that night.

He knows she’ll be drunk, and he considers just ignoring it, but his guilty conscience gets the better of him. He rolls over in bed to grab his phone.

“Hey,” He answers with a barely-audible sigh, turning his phone on speaker and resting it on his chest as he lays back down. “What’s up?”

“Dan!” Her voice is upbeat and happy but slurred just enough for him to recognize that she’s definitely not sober. The background noise coming from her end backs that up; bass-boosted party music and yelling and whooping and inane chatter, all of it muted. He pictures her holed up in the bathroom of someone’s shit university house, cheeks flushed and eyeliner slightly smudged beneath her eyes. It's not an unfamiliar sight. 

“Eva,” He laughs a little. It sounds hollow to his own ears, but he hopes it passes as genuine over the phone. “Sounds like you’re having a good night.”

“Ugh. Kinda,” He hears a faint _ click-clack-_ing on her end and pictures her pacing the tiled bathroom floor. “This party’s a bit stupid. The beer is awful and the guys are dicks. And it’s too bloody hot. I don’t know why I bother trying to go out.”

“So don’t go out,” Dan tells her, absentmindedly biting his thumbnail. “You’ve got loads of friends, I’m sure you could get at least one of them to do something else.”

He gets the sense that wasn’t the right answer when she's quiet on her end. He’s never had the right answer for her. He’s awed that she tolerated his bullshit for as long as she did. Appreciative, he guesses, but awed. 

“Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if you’d gotten into Southampton?” She finally asks. "We could be hanging out right now. You wouldn't want to go out either, we could just cuddle and watch... what's that movie you showed me that I really liked? The one where the guy's in prison." She sounds sad and a bit faraway. He bites down on his lip, hard.

"Shawshank Redemption?" He guesses, just so that she knows he's still listening.

"Shawshank Redemption," her voice perks up a bit. "That's the one."

Dan nods. And then, because he remembers she can't see him, gives a small affirmative hum.

"I just wonder sometimes," she whispers. It takes Dan a second to realize that she's not talking about the movie anymore, she's talking about them. "Things could've been so different. I guess I just wanted to know if you ever wonder, too."

He doesn't. And he really wishes she would stop wondering, for her sake. 

He did get into Southampton.

“Yeah, I dunno,” he says, feeling his gut twist unpleasantly on top of the discomfort that he’s already been trying to ignore all day, and he doesn’t really want to think about why. “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Her voice is a little abrupt. It surprises him slightly. “What?”

“Wasn’t ‘meant to be?’” She sighs into the phone, so heavily that it crackles on his end. “You don’t believe in that. Fate, or whatever. You think it’s all bullshit.”

He does think that. She knows a lot about him, and she didn’t forget everything just because they broke up. Could've benefitted her a great deal, though.

He wants to say a lot of things; has wanted to for a long time, actually. He wants to say he’s sorry for being a shit boyfriend, he wants to tell her that she’s better off without him, he wants to tell her she’ll find someone better. That it won’t be hard to find someone better. The bar is low. 

He doesn’t say those things. He never does because it’ll surely come out wrong, somehow. 

He’s so lost in trying to decide what _ to _say that he nearly shits himself when there’s a knock on his door. He doesn’t know who it is but he frankly doesn’t care, as he’s already springing out of bed and stumbling over an awkward goodbye and apology to Eva before hanging up and tossing the phone back onto his pillow.

Then he freezes because, well, he doesn’t actually have to answer the door. He’s not expecting anyone and he’s not in the mood for company.

His feet seem to move on their own, though, when he hears another gentle knock and a hesitant “...Dan?” on the other side of the door. Then he’s flinging the door open with his heart slightly racing for some reason, to a pair of nervous blue eyes.

*

There’s a massive elephant in the room, and it’s fucking weird. He’s never felt lost for words with Phil and he's pretty sure Phil’s never been lost for words with him either. But here he is, perched on Dan’s bed, completely silent as he swings his legs back and forth.

Dan paces over to his desk and looks out the tiny window in front of it, just to have something to do. Then he gives in. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, spinning around only to see Phil’s mouth open as though he’s about to speak as well. And then he shuts it. 

“You're sorry?" Phil's eyebrows scrunch together. "I was gonna say _ I’m _sorry.” 

Dan frowns. “You’re sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?”

They must look stupid staring each other down. Dan certainly feels stupid anyway, until they both dissolve into a fit of nervous laughter.

And then silence again, but he manages to speak up this time.

“I’m sorry for… I dunno, trying to barge in on you having sex? And acting weird around your…” He trails off, because he still doesn’t really know who Sam is. He ventures a guess. “...Boyfriend?”

Phil snorts and shifts back a little on Dan’s bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Sam’s not my boyfriend,” he clarifies. Something in Dan’s chest feels a little bit lighter. “We just… met on Grindr and we’ve hooked up a few times.”

Dan nods slowly and makes his way over to his bed, sitting cross-legged on the end opposite Phil. Phil looks at him and tilts his head slightly. 

“I was gonna say, like… sorry for keeping it from you?”

“It’s not like I’m entitled to know," Dan shrugs. "I mean, unless you want me to. I guess you don’t have a choice now, but…” He trails off, picking at a loose thread on his duvet cover. 

“I guess not. Unless I can get my hands on a Neuralyzer,” Phil offers with a weak laugh. He’s still staring down at his hands and there's a palpable tension in the room while Phil’s joke hangs heavy in between them.

He thinks for a moment, and bites his lip. “You really didn’t want me to know, huh?”

“It’s not you,” Phil looks up so abruptly that Dan’s stomach actually does a startled flip. His leg is bouncing a little. “It’s not. It’s just like, everyone. None of my friends from home know, or my family… the only people that know are the guys I’ve slept with.” He locks eyes with Dan, finally. “And now you, I guess.”

He's not sure what to make of Phil’s tone. He expects something like disappointment, or maybe relief on a more positive note. But he actually just sounds confused. 

It makes a little bit more sense once Phil keeps on talking. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be cool with it,” he breaks eye contact again. “I can never tell if someone’s gonna be cool with it, so I don’t tell anyone. It’s not because I like keeping secrets.”

Dan tunes most of it out after _ I didn’t know if you’d be cool with it _because it kind of feels like a kick to the stomach. That’s not Phil’s fault though; that he wouldn’t automatically trust him. Dan knows the world is full of dickheads. Any given person’s default reaction to one of their prejudices can be scary.

“It’s cool,” he doesn’t mean for it to come out as clipped as it does. “It’s fine. You like guys, whatever. That’s, uh. Fine.”

When he makes eye contact with Phil again, he looks still looks concerned. He looks concerned about Dan this time, though. 

Dan is also slightly concerned about Dan. His heart is beating a bit too fast and he feels hot, even though the heating's still broken. He’s lightheaded, too. His gaze moves listlessly around the room, searching for something to ground him. It lands on a thick law textbook on the floor next to his desk.

“I have to study,” he says. It’s like hearing himself from underwater. 

“...Oh,” Phil sounds like he’s underwater too. So does the bed, its springs creaking as Phil stands up. “Alright.”

Dan’s still staring at his textbook. He’s not going to use it to study. He’s opened it a grand total of maybe four times this semester, and he’s pretty sure Phil knows that, too. 

But Phil doesn’t mention it. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Phil tells him softly. Dan sees in his periphery that he’s at the door now, hand resting on the knob. “Good luck studying.”

As soon as Phil closes the door behind him, Dan collapses forward, face sinking down into the fabric of his pillow. He wants to scream, but instead he just lets out a breath - long and deep, like he’s been holding it for a thousand years, but didn’t actually notice until right now. 

*

_ He dreams about a ceiling fan. _

_ His ceiling fan. It spins and spins and spins. _

_ So does his head. It spins and spins and spins. It also hurts. He’s looking too closely at the light, he realizes. _

_ But he doesn’t want to look away from the light. He wants to watch the ceiling fan. He wants to watch it spinning. _

_ Everything looks the same in his room. It’s beige and gold, messy and dingy and his single mattress isn’t comfortable at all. There’s someone next to him. He knows who. He doesn’t even bother looking to check. _

_ Everything looks the same in his room, but smaller. _

_ Everything looks the same in his room, but he can’t see his door. He can’t see his window, either. They’re gone. _

_ He can’t see his door or his window, he can just see his walls. He can just see his dirty clothes strewn across the floor. He can just see his heap of Guitar Hero controllers. He can just see his backpack discarded carelessly in the corner. He can just see the electric keyboard he hasn’t touched in years. _

_ There’s no door and no window. _

_ But there’s a ceiling fan. _

_ He looks at it some more. He listens to it, too. It whirrs and rattles in its futile attempt to push the hot, stuffy air around and turn it into something cooler. It’s not turning cooler. The fan is trying its best, but Dan knows some things just never work the way they’re supposed to. By design, it would seem. _

_ The ceiling fan whirrs and rattles. It’s the only thing he can hear. He can’t hear anything outside, or from the rest of his house. Is there even an outside? Is there even a rest of his house? Or is his whole world just this room? _

_ It seems that way. _

_ Eva doesn’t wake up when he gets out of bed, when he starts to pace. She keeps on sleeping. She’s beautiful. She doesn’t look like she’s breathing, but Dan thinks she must be. She wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t be so awful as to let her die. _

_ He paces. He paces from one wall to the other, then he turns around and paces back. Then he turns around and paces back again. The distance seems shorter this time._

_ He’s sweating. _

_ He realizes that the walls are closing in the more he paces, so he stops. The room doesn’t get bigger again. It stays small. _

_ He’s got no idea what to do. He could move or he could stay still and either way he’s not getting out. He looks up again. He looks at the ceiling fan. _

_ It spins and spins and spins. Unfazed by his panicking, unfazed by the room shrinking. _

_ It’s still not making the room cooler. It’s still not doing its job right. But he watches it spin and spin. It seems even more alive than him. It deserves to be alive more than he does because it’s still trying its best. He’s already quit doing that. _

_ He stares up some more. It’s on the ceiling, very high up. Maybe that’s why it’s still going. Maybe things are better up there. _

_ He doubts it, but it certainly can’t be worse than the floor. That’s not possible. _

_ Everything looks the same in his room, but he can’t find his window. He can’t find his door. _

_ Maybe the ceiling fan is his way out. _

His body is drenched in sweat when he jolts awake, gasping for breath. It’s hot, he realizes, so hot, as he kicks off his duvet and hastily tugs off the hoodie he’d gone to bed in.

The heat’s back. He hears the telltale clunking and rattling coming from the furnace, and the temperature itself is bordering on oppressive because apparently their building thermostat’s only two modes are Antarctica and the goddamn Sahara. He groans and rolls over, blindly reaching out his hand and feeling along the floor in the hope that he’s left a water bottle somewhere nearby. He locates one and chugs about half of it while he waits for his heart to stop jackhammering.

It was a weird dream. He gets those sometimes but he can’t be arsed with thinking about them. Especially not right now. He _ can _be arsed with dragging himself out of bed and shuffling across the hall. He has no idea what time it is, but the light is on under Phil’s door, so he knocks.

Walking in unannounced - or trying to - doesn’t hold much appeal right now.

It takes a couple seconds, but then he hears shuffling on the other side of the door and the doorknob turning. He doesn’t hear a lock click. It must’ve been unlocked after all, then.

“Dan?” Phil’s eyes are bleary behind his glasses when he opens the door, hair pushed back from his forehead, and he’s dressed in nothing but the most hideous pair of pink-and-green checked boxers that Dan’s ever seen. “It’s like 5am, why are you up?”

Dan quirks an eyebrow at him. “Why are _ you _up?” He asks in lieu of an answer, because he doesn’t want to talk about why he’s up right now. It seems to be a good enough answer for Phil, anyway. He moves aside and Dan hears the door swing shut behind him as he steps inside and throws himself facedown on Phil’s bed. Phil’s footsteps approach him hesitantly and Dan hears him plop down next to him on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Phil asks, poking him tentatively on the shoulder. “You look a bit ill.”

“Not ill,” he mumbles into Phil’s pillow. “Just overheating.” He happily notes that Phil’s had the good sense to stop blasting his space heater, and instead turn on his bedside fan.

“Oh. Yeah,” Phil grunts and Dan feels the mattress dip a tiny bit on the side, which he takes to mean Phil’s resting his head against it now. “Heating’s fucked. They never get it right, do they?”

Dan shakes his head. It’s quiet for about a minute, until he hears what sounds like crinkling and crunching next to him and he finally turns his head to see Phil eating what looks like little chocolate beans out of a cellophane bag. Phil notices him and looks slightly sheepish. 

“My mum sent me these chocolate covered espresso beans,” he explains, shoving a few more into his mouth. “They just came in the mail and I’ve kinda been eating them all day not thinking about how much caffeine I was having, so I can’t sleep.”

Dan just stares and blinks a couple times before snorting out a laugh and snatching the bag away. “So your solution was to keep eating them? Phil… you’re so thick.”

He thinks he sees something like relief in Phil’s expression, so he feels it in return. This is better. This feels more like them. Not those stilted, uncomfortable chats from earlier. 

“They’re _ good,” _Phil insists as he grabs them back, though not before Dan’s able to grab a small handful. He pops one into his mouth and chews, his face reflexively scrunching up as the bittersweetness bursts onto his tongue. “Christ, those are strong,” he reaches over and dumps the rest of his beans back into the bag. “It didn’t occur to you while you were eating those that they’d be heavily caffeinated?”

Phil just swats at him weakly in response, but his clumsiness and bad aim means that he just ends up brushing the back of his hand against Dan’s nose. He bites back a grin.

They do eventually fall asleep around 9am, laid out on Phil’s bed on the tail end of an argument about the merits of white chocolate. Phil drifts off first while Dan’s speaking, which he considers a win on his part. And then without conversation to stimulate him, Dan feels weary too, resting his head on the pillow next to Phil’s and shutting his eyes. 

He feels better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> hmu on tumblr @lestered


	2. Chapter 2

_ He kind of hates his dorm already, and it’s only been about an hour. It’s tiny, the mattress is stiff, the fluorescent ceiling light is very bright, and the walls are dingy cinder blocks. Really, it's more like a prison cell. _

_ It might’ve been a good idea to bring some posters or something, he thinks as he glances around the room. _

_ He already feels like shit, too. He can hear his dorm mates mingling somewhere down the hall, but in typical Dan fashion, he’d shut himself up in his room as soon as his parents were gone. It would be weird if he went out and joined the others now; he’s missed his window. Gives him time to set up his PC, at least. Then he can play Guild Wars and put off thinking about what a sad sack he's already set up to be. _

_...Again. _

_He’s only just started unpacking when there’s a timid knock on his door. He freezes for a moment, before his desperation for possible companionship wins out over the instinctive wariness he feels when faced with the prospect of any social interaction. _

_ So he opens the door. _

_ “Hi!” The boy standing on the other side smiles brightly at him, though he’s rocking back on his heels like he’s nervous. “Sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if you might have any sticky tape I could use? I’m hanging some stuff up in my room and I kinda ran out.” _

_ Dan looks him over while he speaks. He’s tall, around the same height as him with pale, porcelain skin. He's got high, sharp cheekbones and a beaky sort of nose that are somehow balanced out by big, soft-looking lips and huge blue eyes. _

_ Actually, not really blue. Dan can see specks of green and gray and yellow. They’re kind of mesmerizing, like a kaleidoscope. He watches as the boy brushes his hair out of his eyes while he speaks - it’s black and a little scruffy and falls into a perfect emo fringe. The type of hairstyle Dan’s been trying to emulate since he was about fifteen, and never gotten it quite right. This guy, though... he must know what he’s doing. _

_ He’s looking at Dan now, his eyebrows slightly raised and biting his lip. That's when Dan realizes he’s done talking, which means it's time to stop staring. _

_ “Um,” He glances back into his room as if he’s looking for it, even though he knows there’s a roll sitting right on his desk. “Yeah,” he says when he turns back, taking a couple steps into his room and grabbing it. “Here you go.” _

_ The guy grins again when Dan hands it over. “Thanks. I’m Phil, by the way.” _

_ “Oh,” Dan nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, just to have something to do. “Cool. I’m Dan.” _

_ He expects Phil to just turn and head back to his room with the tape, but he lingers in front of the door a moment longer, glancing into Dan’s room and then back at him. _

_ “So have you met anyone else yet?” He asks him, nodding his head down the hall to where everyone's chattering away like they’re all already the best of friends. _

_ Dan sighs and leans against his doorframe. “No,” he admits. He ought to be embarrassed to say so, but Phil’s eyes are so kind-looking that he decides to be honest._ _“I panicked and hid away in here instead. Minus ten social skills, I guess.” _

_ Phil laughs. Like, genuinely laughs, which Dan isn’t used to, and ruffles a hand through his hair. It's kinda hot, he can't help but notice. In an objective way. In an "I'd-find-him-really-sexy-if-I-were-a-girl-or-something" way. _

_ “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I made the same mistake,” Phil says. “Or, well… I had my door propped open, but I guess it swung shut while I was unpacking and I didn’t notice.” _

_Dan feels a strange, warm wash of relief in his chest. _

_ “Bit oblivious, are you mate?” He jokes, and then immediately kicks himself._ Hold off on being a twat for ten seconds, would you? _he asks himself._ You should try to make at least one friend.

_ Phil just laughs again, though, his tongue poking out between his teeth a little this time. _

_ ...It's maybe a little endearing. _

_ “Yeah, actually,” Phil tells him, sweeping his hair out of his eyes again. “My mum says you could throw a grenade through my window and I probably wouldn’t notice. Kind of a spaceshot, I guess.” _

_ Dan relaxes again, and they both fall quiet. This time it's not so bad. _

_ “Actually, would you like… wanna come hang out?” Phil asks after a minute. “You know, since we both messed up the socializing thing already. I’ve just gotta hang a couple more things and then… I mean, my brother left me some Malibu and told me to use it to make friends, if you’re interested in—” _

_ “Yes. Fuck, yes,” Dan says before Phil’s even finished talking. “I love Malibu. Definitely, yes.”_

_If he sounds a bit too eager, he can't bring himself to care. _ _Phil smiles again. _

_O_ _kay, fine. It’s more than a little endearing._

*

Things go back to normal with Phil, which is mostly an immense relief. It still makes him uneasy to think about why Phil’s coming out to him - if it could even be called that - had shaken him up the way it did, or why he prickles a bit every time he sees Sam come round Phil’s room.

It’s probably just that Phil’s attention is going towards someone other than him. He’s petty and jealous, it’s one of the worst things about him, and he’s gotten kind of used to spending the majority of his time with Phil.

If he’s being honest, it just feels good to have a real friend for once. Maybe he’s afraid of losing that. It definitely has nothing to do with the strange magnetic affection he’s felt for Phil ever since their first conversation. 

He’s not sure what prompts him to ask the question, one Thursday night when Phil’s _ not _with Sam and he’s lying on Phil’s bed, idly tossing a hacky sack up in the air while Phil works on… something at his desk. Something linguistic that Dan can’t be bothered trying to understand.

“Is it true that some gay guys have like, one girl they’d go straight for?” Dan asks. It might be that he’s staring at the massive Sarah Michelle Gellar picture on the wall next to Phil's bed, pieced together on about 50 A4 sheets of paper. The very work of art that had used up all of Phil’s sticky tape on move-in day. 

Phil turns in his chair to face him, looking puzzled. “Is that a thing?” He folds his arms over the back of his chair and rests his chin down on top of them. “I’ve never heard that.”

Dan shrugs, suddenly feeling kind of bad for asking. “I dunno, I’ve seen some gay guys online talk about it. It’s usually like… Mariah Carey or Britney Spears or Beyonce. I guess... they’re joking?”

Phil tilts his head like he’s actually thinking about it, which makes Dan even more embarrassed for some reason. “They’re all gay icons, kind of,” Phil says, “I think they’re probably exaggerating. Like a fanboy thing.”

Dan nods. It makes sense. 

“Also, where are you seeing all these gay guys talking about their girl crushes?” Phil asks, a small smirk of amusement in place on his lips. Dan’s cheeks burn, because honestly, the implications of him creeping around MySpace and Dailybooth to look at admittedly attractive emo guys isn’t something he really wants to talk about. He appreciates their aesthetic; he doesn't care if they're gay. There’s a lot of overlap, though.

“Just like. Around. Here and there,” he mutters, and it must sound nonchalant enough since Phil doesn’t push it. 

“Well, I don't know,” Phil sighs. “Maybe some of them are serious, but probably not. I don’t have one, in case you’re wondering.”

Phil also glances at the giant Sarah Michelle Gellar over his bed. “I can see how you might wonder about that, though. I just can’t feel that way about girls, I’ve tried. Didn’t go well.”

“Yeah?” He rolls over onto his side. “You had girlfriends?”

“Kind of,” Phil snorts. “I tried, twice. They both dumped me pretty quick. I couldn’t even kiss them convincingly.”

“Shit,” Dan mumbles, and tosses the hacky sack across the room. Phil catches it, just barely. “That kinda sucks. Sorry.”

Phil tosses it back. “It’s alright. Well... yeah, it was pretty shit, but it’s cool now. I can be gay here, just... on the down-low. No one from home knows, and I really can't see myself telling them. But at least I can hook up with guys, finally.”

“Like Sam,” Dan says without really thinking. Phil hums affirmatively. “How’s that been going?”

Phil scrunches his nose up a bit and huffs out a breath. “I don’t know. He’s cool."

It's obvious from the look on Phil's face that there's not all there is to it. "But...?" He prompts.

Phil rolls his eyes. "But friends-with-benefits is getting old. I want something that actually goes somewhere, I guess. Someone I have real feelings for.”

That makes Dan happier than it should. He hopes it doesn’t show. “Think you’ll call it off, then?”

Phil groans and hides his head in his hands for a second before combing his fingers back through his hair. Dan watches him carefully.

“I guess I should,” he finally sighs in defeat. “I don’t know how. I’ve never had to be the one to break something off.”

“I have,” Dan answers a little too quickly, sitting up on the bed and swinging his legs over to dangle off the side. “Come on. I’ll help you figure out what to say.”

*

_ He dreams about his bedroom again. This time the ceiling fan isn’t spinning. This time there’s a door and a window. Dan can see out of it. It’s dark. _

_ One thing is still the same. The girl beside him. _

_ She’s asleep, and then she stirs. She rolls over towards him and opens her eyes with a sleepy smile. He tries to smile back. _

_ “Did you sleep?” Eva whispers. _

_ Did he? He doesn’t know. So he shakes his head and she groans. _

_ “Sleep, we’re having dinner with my family later. Can’t have you passing out in your salad again.” _

_ Dan shrugs. “I’m nocturnal, can’t help it.” _

_ She rolls her eyes and then shuts them. “You’re a pain in the ass,” she sighs fondly. “You're lucky I love you so much.” _

_ I love you so much. _

_ Love you. _

_ Love. _

_ The room starts spinning, slowly at first and then picking up speed. His body prickles all over. His stomach feels sick. He doesn’t want any of this, he wants to feel okay, he wants the bad things to stop but the room just spins faster. It spins so fast he can’t breathe. _

_ The room spins and he shakes, harder and harder, a build-up of… he’s not sure. Energy? Adrenaline? Panic? But it builds until it’s too much to keep inside and he finds himself stumbling out of bed. The room stops spinning abruptly and he falls onto his knees and gasps for breath. _

_ Eva wakes up again. She looks worried. She looks like she's going to ask if he’s okay. But he doesn’t let her. _

_ “We need to break up.” _

He gets freaked out by dreams like that. Dreams that are just a bit too real. He wants to forget about it so badly that he actually goes to his morning lecture.

He regrets it after about five minutes. Law is boring as shit. His phone vibrating in his pocket is an enormous relief, even moreso when he sees that it’s a text from Phil

_**phil:** alright i did it. i broke it off with sam _

Dan bites his cheek to stop the grin that’s threatening to spread over his face for no reason. Even though he doesn’t really have to stop it. It’s not like Phil can see him. 

_yeah? how’d it go _

The reply from Phil is almost immediate.

_**phil:** fine. like, literally, he was fine with it. no emotional reaction whatsoever _

Dan frowns.

_you mean you wanted him to be upset? _

_**phil:** no!!!! of course not! but like… i thought i’d get some kind of reaction. am i that unexciting?_

Dan can’t decide whether to roll his eyes, or to frown deeper, because he doesn’t like hearing Phil talk badly about himself. At the same time, though, what he’s saying is absolutely daft. Not exciting. He’s the only person Dan’s ever been able to hold an easy conversation with. That’s pretty damn exciting to him.

_don’t be stupid, you’re plenty exciting _

_you're more exciting than this lecture. like, a billion times more_

_**phil:** ...you’re actually in your lecture right now? _

Dan sighs, mostly just to himself.

_yeah _

_**phil:** who the hell are you? what have you done with dan _

He presses his lips together. He doesn’t know how to respond, he’s not sure what’s happening to him either. 

Another text from Phil comes through before he has to say anything.

_**phil:** anyway i’m not even gonna bother going out tonight. who needs sex when you can just buy 4 bags of tangfastics and spend all weekend eating them in bed _

Dan huffs out a small laugh at that.

_4 bags? mate, you’re acting like this was an actual breakup. which by the way, was your idea in the first place _

_**phil:** don’t sweet-shame me. his dick was really nice _

Dan nearly chokes on his own spit.

It’s not like Phil’s even said something shocking. He’s an adult, he knows how sex works, so he doesn’t have a great reason to just be blinking dumbly down at the screen with his stomach doing weird somersaults. 

He realizes he’s definitely taking too long to reply when his phone vibrates again.

_**phil:** ...sorry that was weird. i’ll keep the gay thoughts to myself _

That makes him feel even worse.

_no no it’s not that. just got distracted for a second _

He sends it off as fast as he can, because he doesn’t want Phil getting the wrong idea. He's relieved to get a random string of emojis in reply. 

He slips out of his lecture about an hour early. Turns out he can’t be bothered today, after all.

*

“I don’t understand why the shirt matters so much,” Phil tells him later that night. He’s laying the wrong way on Dan’s bed, his head resting by the foot of it and his feet propped up on the pillow. His socks are mismatched, one blue-and-green striped and one solid purple, but Dan’s stopped commenting on that. No matter how much he complains about the upsetting lack of symmetry, Phil is simply never going to organize his sock drawer. 

“_Some _of us actually own a variety of clothes to choose from, not just an array of plaid.” Dan reminds him. He’s standing shirtless in front of his mirror, holding an off-white button up in one hand and his quarter-sleeve grey hoodie in the other. 

In the reflection behind him, he sees Phil roll his head to the side and look him over for a moment. He stands up a little straighter. 

“Wear a bloody jumper or something at least. It’s cold as fuck and I know you’re not gonna wear a jacket.”

“Yes, Phil,” He opts for the button-up and tosses the hoodie back into his wardrobe. “I’m going to wear a jumper to a nightclub so I can walk inside and immediately pass out from heat exhaustion.”

Phil shrugs and looks back up at the ceiling, popping a couple tangfastics into his mouth from the open bag resting on his chest. “Fine, but if you get pneumonia on the walk back, I’m not nursing you back to health.” 

“Don’t worry,” Dan shrugs the shirt onto his shoulders and buttons it while walking over to his desk. “I know how to stay warm.”

Phil eyes him as he pours himself a shot of raspberry Smirnoff and downs it quick. “Want a chaser?” He offers up the bag of gummies. Dan gives him a dubious look but grabs a few nonetheless. 

“I’d rather have a drinking partner,” he tells Phil in between slow chews. “You sure you’re not coming out?”

Phil shakes his head. “Can’t be bothered. If I get drunk tonight I’ll do something stupid, like re-download Grindr.”

“You could come and just not drink,” he suggests, even though he knows that’ll be a hard no. The incredulous look Phil gives him confirms that. 

“If you’re gonna miss my sparkling presence so much,” Phil says dully, “you could just stay in with me.”

Dan knows that’s true, but he also knows the restless energy that’s been simmering in the pit of his stomach all week isn’t gonna go away if he spends the night in Phil’s bed again. He needs to get it out somehow, needs to be somewhere so loud that he won’t be able to hear himself think, where he can get drunk and who knows, maybe there’ll be a girl he gets on with. It’s been months since Eva, maybe that’s why he’s so wound up.

Phil seems to take his lack of response as a _ no, _and draws himself up into a sitting position before sliding off the bed. 

“Alright,” Phil grabs his half-finished bag of sweets and heads out the door. “Don’t do anything stupid!” He hears him call as the door swings shut. Dan nods to himself and takes another shot.

And then another. Just for good measure.

*

He does get on with a girl at the club, it turns out. 

He thinks her name is Lauren. Or Laura. Or Laurie. He can’t actually hear much, but she’s got dark brown hair and nice green eyes and she’s bought him four shots of tequila - or maybe five or six, his head feels very blurry - and keeps pressing up close to him on the dance floor. Her arms are draped around his shoulders and her breath is hot and heavy against his neck. He grabs her ass because he’s pretty sure that’s what he’s supposed to do. 

She seems to like it. 

He’s also pretty sure he’s supposed to get hard. She’s grinding on him with intent and her lips are pressed right to his neck now, that extra-sensitive bit of skin right next to his throat, that usually makes him squirm if someone so much as brushes their fingers against it. That’s not going quite as well, though. 

He does feel squirmy inside, but not in a good way.

Her hands slide down to press against his chest and then curl into fists, clinging to the material of his shirt. “C’mon,” she yells over the blasting music, “let’s get out of here.”

She doesn’t sound drunk. Why doesn’t she sound drunk? Maybe she holds her liquor well, or maybe he’s too sloshed himself to decipher anyone’s real tone of voice. He swallows hard and pulls back a bit. 

She’s pretty. She’s really pretty, there’s no getting around that. She even looks a little like Eva. 

That’s not why he’d started talking to her. Strange coincidence, though. 

He finds himself nodding, his head feeling strangely empty all of a sudden.

“Uh, yeah,” He shouts over the music. “Lemme just grab another drink first. You want anything?”

She beams. “Vodka RedBull,” she replies, and leans in one more time to kiss his cheek. “Hurry, though.”

He nods again, almost robotically, before beginning to weave his way through the crowd that stands between him and the bar. He almost gets shoved over a couple times, and he definitely touches someone's boob by accident, but he gets through.

“Another tequila, babe?” The bartender calls to him when he catches her eye.

“Yeah, please.”

She eyes him up for a moment, and apparently deciding that he’s not too shitfaced for another drink, sets the shot down in front of him. He slaps a few notes down on the counter, not really sure if it’s the right amount, but also not really caring, and throws it back. 

It goes down smooth. Or maybe he’s just too gone to care about the burn.

He turns, then, and scans his eyes over the crowd. Lauren/Laura/Laurie is sufficiently hidden from view and he reckons it’ll be a few minutes before she starts wondering where he’s gone. 

So he bolts.

*

It’s proper cold outside, Phil was right about that. But Dan was also right about the alcohol keeping him warm. 

Okay, maybe he’s not really _ warm. _But he’s not freezing his ass off.

It does take a long time for him to make his way back to the dorm, though. His head’s a little spinny so he relies on muscle memory more than anything else to bring him there, and he only stumbles a couple times. That’s pretty good. 

His teeth are chattering by the time he’s inside, cheeks and nose having gone numb from the wind nipping at them, so he doesn’t hesitate a bit before heading towards the staircase.

He lets his muscle memory take him up to his floor too, until he’s stood in his annoyingly familiar hallway. Now all he has to do is get back to his room.

Muscle memory doesn’t take him to his room, though.

It takes him to Phil’s.

*

Phil doesn’t notice him at first. For a minute he’s just standing in the open doorway while Phil’s eyes stay fixed on the laptop resting on his stomach.

It’s not until he takes a step inside and lets the door swing shut with a mild slam that Phil jolts, nearly knocking his laptop off the bed. “Dan!” He sits up and tugs his earbuds out of his ears, setting his laptop to the side and placing a hand on his chest. “You scared me to death.”

Dan feels his cheeks warming; he doesn’t know if he’s blushing or if he’s just starting to regain feeling in them from being inside now. He hopes it’s the latter. “Sorry.”

Phil looks him over, his eyes growing concerned. “Are you okay?” He asks him. His voice is hesitant and soft. 

“Yeah,” Dan shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Why?”

“Um, you’re crying?”

He freezes for a moment before drawing one hand out of his pocket to touch his cheek. It is, in fact, wet. When did he start crying? What the hell does he have to cry about?

He doesn’t know, but he chokes on his next breath and bites back the sob that’s threatening to burst out of his chest. He’s not sure why he bothers, his shoulders are already shaking too much to hide. 

“Dan,” Phil says again. His voice is nearly a whisper now and Dan tries to ignore how it’s laced with pity. He shifts over towards the wall and pulls the corner of his duvet down. “Come here.”

*

Phil’s bed is warm. Dan likes that. The sheets are soft and the pillow smells like fabric softener and Phil’s shampoo. It’s comforting, the freshness, the cleanness. He can’t even remember the last time he washed his own sheets. 

Phil is warm, too. Dan wouldn’t have found that out on his own, wasn’t planning on crowding into Phil’s space more than he already was, but he’d no sooner pulled the duvet up over his shoulders that Phil was locking his arms around his waist and gathering him into a tight, secure hug. 

He has a problem with boundaries, usually. But it's alright with Phil.

They don’t speak while Dan waits for his breathing to calm down. It takes a while, he’s not sure exactly how long, but he finds a slow, steady rhythm and the only tears are an occasional trickle from his right eye, dripping directly onto Phil’s shirt where Dan’s head rests on his shoulder. 

And then they still don’t speak for a while, and Dan lets his eyes slip shut.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Phil whispers. He’s speaking carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll scare Dan away by using his normal voice. Dan blinks his eyes open again, slowly. 

“I don’t even know,” he mumbles. “Don’t know what the fuck’s going on with me lately.”

Phil nods, obviously waiting for some sort of elaboration that Dan really doesn't feel like giving. He's not sure what he'd even say.

"Emotions are stupid," he says finally. "It's like, nothing matters and what's the fucking point. But then sometimes, everything matters so much. Like... too much. And it's all overwhelming and none of it feels any good."

Phil doesn't say anything when Dan pauses, so he continues. "It's like there's a giant fucking boulder on my chest and I'm laying underneath and it hurts, and I want to get it off but I can't move. It's just... it feels really shit."

When Phil does speak up, his voice is hesitant and soft. “Have you… how long have you felt that way?”

Dan closes his eyes again and his voice drops even lower. “I dunno. Since I was like, fourteen maybe.”

Phil props himself up on one elbow and Dan slides off his shoulder, his head landing on the pillow instead. He frowns and opens his eyes. He’s too tired for this.

“That long?” Phil asks. His eyebrows are knitted together, part curious, part worried. “Haven’t you… I mean… why haven’t you told someone? Or have you?”

“I can usually keep it under control. It’s just been bad lately because I’m remembering how shit of a person I am.”

Phil lays back down on the pillow and turns onto his side, facing him. “Don’t say that. You’re not.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but follows whatever strange urge he has to shift closer to Phil until their knees touch. “You know my ex-girlfriend? She wanted us to go to uni together.”

“Yeah, Eva,” Phil nods. “You told me about her.”

“She wanted us both to go to Southampton,” he continues. “But I just… I don’t know, that much commitment freaked me out. So I lied and told her I didn’t get in. But I did.”

Phil’s mouth forms a quiet _ oh. _“To avoid breaking up with her?”

Dan huffs out an empty laugh. “No, that’s the really shit part. After I told her that, she said we could just do long distance and I _ agreed. _So then I had to break up with her anyway.”

Phil bites his lip contemplatively. “Well… that must have been hard,” he offers. “What you did maybe wasn’t the best, but if you learned from it-”

“I didn’t," he interrupts. "Some girl tonight wanted to come home with me. I said yes, told her I’d be right back and then just left.”

Phil just fixes him with a blank stare for a moment before bursting into laughter. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Dan shoves lightly at his shoulder. “It’s not funny.”

Phil composes himself. “No, sorry, you’re right. It’s not.”

Dan nods. 

“But it kind of is,” Phil adds quietly. He laughs when Dan shoves him again.

“Dan, come on. There’s a pretty big difference between your long-term girlfriend and a drunk stranger you would’ve fucked once and then never seen again. You can at least give yourself a break for that one.”

“I guess,” Dan sighs. It doesn’t actually make him feel better, but it’s nice to know that Phil doesn’t think he’s a total dick. 

“Right,” Phil nods too, and rolls over onto his other side. “Sleep. We’re gonna have fun tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> hmu on tumblr @lestered


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Keeping this short and sweet: yes, this fic has been on a hiatus that I forgot to announce, but with the holidays being over, I've got some more free time on my hands so I'll be trying to update this more!

By some miracle, he doesn’t wake up hungover.

At least not physically. But when he cracks an eye open and remembers where he is and how he got here, he decides he’d rather deal with a headache and some vomiting than the residual embarrassment he’s about to face. 

“Oh, you’re up.”

And Phil’s already awake, so his seedling of an idea to sneak out and do what he does best, avoid the situation, is a no-go. Wonderful.

He groans and turns over, pressing his face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

Phil’s socked foot nudges at his calf. “A little past noon. Didn’t wanna wake you before you were ready.” 

“Oh, god,” he lifts his head momentarily. “I can’t believe I cried on you last night. I’m sorry.”

Phil just rolls his eyes a bit. “For what, having feelings? All I had going for me last night was a lot of Tangfastics and Brokeback Mountain, you didn't spoil anything.”

He feels slightly lifted when he rests his cheek back down on the pillow. “Never seen it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Phil’s voice and expression are bordering on offended. “You said you liked movies that make you cry.”

“I do.”

“But you haven’t seen Brokeback Mountain.”

He hasn’t. He knows what it’s about, generally. That’s kind of _ why _hasn’t watched it. Still, he’s not really sure how he’s supposed to say that to Phil. “...No?”

“Then you’re contradicting yourself. That’s our afternoon plans sorted.”

He follows suit when Phil props himself up on his elbows. “Pretty sure you said last night that we were gonna have fun today.”

“Yeah. This’ll be well fun.” 

He lets Phil roll over him to grab his laptop up off the floor, and the brief moment of Phil’s weight on top of him is actually kind of nice. Like one of those anxiety blankets he’s been getting adverts for. “I didn’t know that crying counted as ‘well fun.’”

“It’ll be cathartic,” Phil insists as he types in his password. 

He looks over at Dan and his expression is somehow both pointed and pleading. Only Phil could pull off that face, surely. He may as well give in.

*

Phil insists that they shower and brush their teeth first, even though they’ll just be getting back into pyjamas. And while Dan’s initially petulant about being forced out of bed, he’s grateful once he’s actually in the shower stall, letting the water soothe and relax the muscles he didn’t even realize he’d been tensing. He wonders how long he’s been doing that.

He turns the heat up, then, relishing in the steam clouding his vision and the way he can practically feel his pores opening up, letting his skin breathe. He doesn’t even remember when he last showered, but whenever that was, he didn’t appreciate it as much as he should have.

In the back of his mind, he knows that Phil’s here too, in another stall. Maybe the one right next to him, maybe one on the opposite side of the room, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s happy to be where he is right now, warm and clean and _ alone_, his heartbeat slow and steady and his head shutting the fuck up, if only for a little while.

He holds onto the nice feelings as long as he can, scrubbing and sudsing and rinsing and then repeating, just because. Because he’s in one of those rare, strange moods where he feels like taking care of himself. He shuts the water off as soon as it starts to go lukewarm. 

“Finally,” Phil says when Dan returns to the room, clad in his Manchester hoodie and black joggers. “I was starting to wonder if you’d passed out in there.”

“Alright, mister sits-down-in-the-shower,” Dan mumbles. He’s not actually annoyed. He couldn’t be if he tried, once he sees that Phil’s popped them a generous bowl of popcorn and fixed two cups of Ribena. 

“I regret telling you anything about what I did before the age of 14,” Phil tells him, but shifts over anyway to make space for Dan to climb into the bed. 

He slides under the covers, where they fit surprisingly well for how big they are. Part of that may have to do with how he doesn’t mind being pressed up against Phil the way he would with literally anyone else. Phil has a way of making what could be his own personal space, very inviting. Dan had noticed that as soon as they met; that Phil’s touchy. Physically affectionate to the point where Dan's not nervous to be close to him. 

Phil radiates nonintimidation, if that’s a thing. Whatever hostile, Monster-and-Eminem fueled, _don’t-smile-at-me-or-I’ll-kill-you,-you-fucking-homo_ rage constantly seeping out of the oily pores of those dickheads at Forest… Phil emanates the complete opposite of that. It had been unusual at first, maybe even jarring. But he’s gotten used to it. And doesn't have to deal with any nagging worry that he might be imposing on Phil’s personal bubble, because he doesn’t seem to have one. 

He must have been hugged quite a lot as a baby or something.

“Comfy?” Phil asks, like it’s necessary. Dan’s already shuffled deep down under the comforter and let his head sink into the pillow, but he nods just in case that doesn’t make it clear enough. 

Phil smiles a little, rests his head back next to Dan’s and settles the laptop on his chest. Dan draws in a deep, silent breath when Phil hits _ play. _

*

Two hours and fourteen minutes later it’s as if they’d not shifted positions even a little bit since last night. It’s also as if Dan had never stopped crying. 

“I know,” Phil whispers. His voice is a bit wobbly. 

Dan doesn’t bother trying to lift his head from where it’s buried in Phil’s shoulder, because if it’s not bothering Phil, then it’s not bothering him, and Phil’s hands are still smoothing gentle circles over his back, so he’s not inclined to think that he wants any space.

He does turn his head to the side, though, so he’s resting on his cheek, with his gaze flickering idly over Phil’s neck. There’s a light bit of stubble dotting his jawline, he can’t help but notice. 

“That was intense,” he says quietly. Phil nods, then turns to face him with curious, searching eyes. Dan can't do much besides stare back, and try not to think about the confused butterflies in his stomach and the ache deep, deep, deep down in his chest. He shouldn’t be feeling both things at once. They don’t fit together. It seems wrong. So he’s glad when Phil speaks up and brings him out of his thoughts. 

“What’d you think overall?” Phil asks him. Dan’s stopped actively crying, and so Phil’s stopped rubbing his back. He doesn’t make any further attempts to move away, though. “I mean, besides intense?”

Dan breathes out a laugh, just to do something with the strange bit of energy simmering somewhere inside of him. “Intense really is the best word, I think,” he offers. “I mean, it was good. Sad, but a good film.”

Dan watches Phil carefully as he nods and reaches forward, clicking out of the movie window. It minimizes to reveal his desktop: a photo of a mantis shrimp surrounded by various clusters of folders and files. 

Phil is really quite a strange person sometimes. 

He feels compelled to speak up again. 

“Sucks that they couldn’t have had a happy ending.”

Phil’s expression, when he looks back at Dan, is a little surprised. And then thoughtful.

“Huh,” is all he says, very quietly. Dan waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. So Dan doesn't ask him to. When Phil sits up a bit, he does the same. 

Then there’s a sudden shift in the mood.

“Mario Kart?” Phil suggests, seemingly perking up at his own suggestion as he shuts his laptop and sets it off to the side. “Or, actually, we should get dinner first, I’m pretty starving. Then Mario Kart, though. Unless you’re finally gonna let me show you Bubble Bobble.”

Dan tries not to seem whiplashed.

*

“You made us miss the magic lamp again!” Phil groans, “Stop rushing!”

“You understand the magnitude of the irony that’s present in _ you _ telling _ me _not to rush, right?” Dan asks, not taking his eyes off the screen. “I just want to make sure you understand it.”

“Your mum understands it,” Phil mumbles, and Dan doesn’t even bother ribbing him about such a shit comeback, “We’re working together, remember.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The music of the game is nice, Dan has to admit. It’s cute and happy, very much like Phil at the moment. His posture is relaxed, eyes bright and mouth resting in an easy smile. Even though Dan’s got no clue what’s actually going on in the game, since Phil’s attempt at storytelling’s been interspersed between his attempt at teaching Dan how to actually play. Which means he pretty much has no clue what he’s doing, either. 

“Oh, shit, hurry up. Hurry up, hurry up!”

Dan rolls his eyes, seeing the screen flash _ Hurry Up! _as well. “You just told me to slow down.”

Phil glances over in his direction. “Well now we’re going too slow. That means Baron Von Blubba’s going to appear soon.”

He’s not even going to ask right now, he decides. He just huffs out a short laugh and follows Phil’s lead.

*

“Did Baron Von Blubba have any motivation behind kidnapping our girlfriends?” Dan asks later. They’re sat on Phil’s bed still, controllers discarded in favor of the soggy paper bag of leftover chips they’d brought back from dinner. They’re mostly cold and a bit shit by now, but they'd worked up an appetite gaming, even if they hadn't made it past level 45. 

Phil shrugs and shoves a couple more chips into his mouth. “It’s actually Super Drunk who’s behind the whole thing,” he explains in between slow chews. “You won’t see him until level 100. And then in Rainbow Islands, spoiler alert, you’ll find out he was taking orders from the Boss of Dark Shadow. But no, I don’t think the antagonists have any motivation besides, like, being inherently evil.”

“Wow. Didn’t know there was such extensive lore behind the Bubble Bobble universe,” Dan teases, nudging his socked foot against Phil’s knee.

“Have you ever tried not being a game snob?” Phil replies easily, plopping the chips bag into Dan’s lap and leaning back against his pillow. “You’re not better than everyone just because you played Abe’s Oddysee, Daniel.”

“Oi,” he mumbles, tossing a chip in Phil’s direction. It lands on his chest and he watches as Phil sighs, picks it up, and eats it, wrinkling his nose at the grease stain it leaves on his t-shirt.

Then he sets the chips bag down on the floor beside Phil’s bed, having had his fill of oil and salt and carbs, and lays down in the small space that’s left.

“Fine, it’s a fun game,” he admits. His eyes wander over Phil’s ceiling, idly counting specks and cracks. “Fucking ancient, though. How was _that _your favourite game as a kid?”

He feels Phil’s shoulder press against his, and he can’t really tell if it’s an accident or a deliberate nudge. He presses back just in case it’s deliberate. Just for a second.

“My brother showed me when I was really little,” Phil says. “It was the only thing he had the patience to play with me until I learned enough mechanics for Mortal Kombat.”

“At least you were teachable,” Dan offers. “I couldn’t be bothered showing my brother how to do anything. Always took too long.”

Phil lets out a soft hum. And then, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Shit.

“Yeah,” he tries to sound nonchalant about it. “He’s only 12. Kinda hard to bond when the gap’s that big, not like you and Martyn.”

Martyn. And Kath, and Nigel. He knows all about Phil’s family; Phil loves to talk about them. Actually, he just loves them in general. Dan had been surprised, actually, when Phil first started talking about them so fondly. 

Not that he doesn’t love his own family. He’s not sure if he particularly likes them, though.

But Phil tells him about Martyn and his DJ-ing and Kath and her famous cakes and Nigel and his painting. He tells him about holidays in Florida and his grandparents’ house on the Isle of Man. He talks of how Kath would find him old t-shirts to bloody up when he’d make horror videos with his friends, how Nigel would sit with him and watch Buffy so that they’d have at least one thing in common, how Martyn was so impressively tolerant of Phil and his baby-of-the-family syndrome. 

Dan has some things he supposes he could tell Phil, too. The time his dad filled his room with fake snow one Christmas morning to make it look like Father Christmas had come. The time his mum took him out of school and brought him to Disneyland Paris, and went on all the rides with him despite her crippling fear of rollercoasters. Any number of stories about his grandma; she always did her best for him. 

But when it comes down to it, there’s also a lot that he’d rather not talk about. Stuff he doesn’t want to risk saying once the good things run out. 

So he’s glad that Phil doesn’t ask him anything else.

*

_ His sheets at his grandma’s house are soft flannel, checkered red and gray with pillowcases that match. They’re old; worn but not tattered. Well-loved. The comforter is grey. The walls are baby blue with various animals stenciled in white, a vestige of when it had been his nursery. There’s a dark wooden dresser in the corner and an off-white rug covering the hardwood floor. It’s not plush, but it keeps his feet warm when he gets up in the morning. There’s only one window and it’s small, right above the head of his bed, with blinds and no curtains. _

_ It doesn’t reflect his personality much at all. _

_ He loves it. _

_ He can hear her moving around downstairs. She’s probably making french toast, or maybe eggs and bacon. His grandad’s probably helping her out, emptying the clean dishes from the dishwasher to make room for the new dirty ones. Or maybe he’s outside filling up the bird feeder. It doesn’t matter. Knowing they’re home doesn’t make him tense up. _

_ Neither does the warm hand smoothing over his shoulder. He lets his eyes fall shut again with a sigh, not bothering to look behind him, to see who’s spooned up against his back. He doesn’t care. Their skin is soft, their warm breath ghosts over his shoulder and Dan knows, in a way, who it is. He doesn’t know how he knows. _

_ “She’s gonna love you,” Dan whispers, reaching blindly for their arm until he finds it and tugs it tighter around his middle. “My grandma’s really gonna love you.” _

_ He frowns when the body behind him pulls away and jostles him. _

_ “Dan. Dan, wake up.” _

_ * _

“Dan,” Phil groans, shoving at his shoulder again. “Seriously, wake up unless you want me to wet the bed with you in it.”

Dan grunts when he blinks his eyes open, gaze resting dully on the couple rays of golden light shining through the blinds and onto the carpet. His head feels like it’s full of cotton and his throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper. He grunts again when Phil shoves him forward one more time, enough to yank his other arm out from under Dan’s shoulders. He shuts his eyes again when he feels Phil clamber over him, hitting the floor with a soft thump before shuffling out into the hallway. The door opens and shuts, and he falls back to sleep. 

*

When he wakes up again, there’s music playing. He can’t tell what it is at first; it’s soft. He opens his eyes and finds himself with his face smushed into Phil’s pillow and decides that if he’s still in Phil’s room, then it’s probably Muse. Phil regularly only listens to about five bands, with Muse being the heaviest in his rotation. 

_ Ooooh, you set my soul alight. _

Yeah. Of course. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Fuck,” he lifts his head and glances blearily around the room until he sees Phil at his desk. He's sitting the wrong way in his chair, cross-legged and facing Dan. His laptop is open on the desk behind him, though he can’t make out what’s on the screen.

“You should have something to eat,” Phil tells him before he can say anything more eloquent than that. “You’ve been asleep all day. I got you a muffin at lunchtime but that’s probably not enough. You missed like, three meals.”

He blinks a couple times to adjust his eyes to the dim lighting in the room. It’s dark outside the windows and Phil’s only got his desk lamp on. He’s just alert enough to catch the Starbucks bag that Phil lobs over to him.

“They didn’t have any pistachio,” Phil explains as Dan pulls a slightly smushed blueberry muffin out of the wrapping. He sounds apologetic which stupid, Dan thinks as he pulls off the top of the muffin, sighing when he sinks his teeth in and tastes the sweet blueberry burst on his tongue. Feeling sorry that he couldn’t find Dan’s preferred muffin flavor on a generous and unprompted Starbucks run is very Phil, so Dan gives him a look. Phil catches his eye and nods.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. That was a dumb thing to apologize for.”

Dan nods, swallows, and takes another bite. “I can’t believe you let me sleep so long.”

“I figured you wouldn’t have slept so much unless you needed to,” Phil tilts his head to the side. “D’you feel alright?”

He buys time by slowing down his chewing momentarily. Does he feel alright? How the hell is he supposed to know? 

“Yeah,” he decides. “I guess I was just tired.”

Phil doesn’t look completely convinced, but he nods anyway, and unscrews the cap off the Mountain Dew bottle that Dan hadn’t noticed him holding until now. He raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson about caffeine at night after the whole espresso bean incident?” He asks. He watches Phil take a long, slow drink from the bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly with every swallow. Phil sighs when he’s finished. 

“Yeah. I’ve got a paper due in the morning, though, and I kinda put it off until now. So I actually _ need _ to stay up all night this time.”

“All-nighter,” Dan nods, as if he has any clue. He’s pulled them, sure. But never for homework. “Sucks.”

Phil nods, too. It only takes a couple moments of uncomfortable silence for him to realize that, _ oh. _Phil’s working. Which means he probably wants him to leave.

“I should go then, yeah?” He says, untangling himself from Phil’s bedsheets. Standing up feels weird.

“I mean, I have to work, so I won’t be good company,” Phil says with a shrug of one shoulder. “But you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I should,” Dan answers immediately, grabbing his muffin again. “You’ve already babysat me an entire weekend, I should really give you a break.”

It doesn’t come out sounding like a joke, the way he’d intended. He must be too tired to even change the tone of his voice.

“Alright,” Phil says with a slow sigh. “Well, just come back if you change your mind.”

God, he thinks, he really should have attached himself to someone less… unconditionally nice. Poor Phil. 

His own room feels foreign and lonely as he settles into bed, ignoring the pang of hunger in his stomach because Phil was right, one muffin really wasn’t enough to make up for a whole day of not eating. He’s hungry and he’s already slept a whole day and he feels like he’s been doing emotional gymnastics all weekend. 

Still, he turns the light off and goes back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for reading!
> 
> hmu on tumblr @lestered
> 
> [likes/reblogs](https://lestered.tumblr.com/post/190182460086/and-youre-semi-sweet-chapter-3-t-34k-124k) are appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick shoutout to everyone reading who's been patient with how slowly this fic has started out! updates from here on out will be every friday :)

He doesn’t dream.

That’s unusual but welcome. He wakes up with a clearer head and no knot in his stomach. 

However, it’s not long before the hunger pangs revisit and force him to roll out of bed far earlier than he’d normally like. Surely he’d gotten enough sleep though, after yesterday. He doesn’t feel like wondering why he’d been so tired to begin with, or why he has such moods and why they wear him out the way they do. He just stretches, rolls his head back along his shoulders and sighs in satisfaction when his neck cracks. 

He’s a bit surprised to see Phil already stood at the kitchen counter by the time he shuffles his way downstairs.

It takes Phil a moment to notice him back, as he’s simply holding a steaming coffee mug - by the cup, not the handle, in that weird way he does - staring blankly into space and looking dead on his feet. In fact, it’s not until Dan approaches him carefully and plucks the mug right out of his hands that he startles, stumbling back a few steps with his hand clutching his chest.

“Dan!” His eyes are comically wide for a second before he pulls himself together and straightens up. “You scared me to death. You can’t just sneak up on me like that.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at him, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a small sip. It's only a little bit too sweet for him. Actually, he figures as he glances at the sugar packets on the counter, he might have intercepted the cup before Phil was done fixing it. But maybe that’s a good thing.

“I didn’t sneak up on you,” he points out. “I made no attempt at sneakiness. You’re just in a trance.” Phil frowns and crosses his arms.

"I could be a lot more alert right now if you hadn't stolen my fucking coffee," he says humorlessly.

Uh-oh. It's been a while since he's invoked the morning wrath of a coffeeless, grumpy Phil. He steps forward and presses the mug back into Phil's grasp.

It seems to placate him slightly.

"Okay, sorry, but one cup of coffee isn't gonna do anything for you. How much sleep did you get last night?"

"None," Phil shrugs. Dan watches him gulp down about half the mug. "Told you, I had to finish that paper."

He widens his eyes. Not because getting no sleep is some sort of unthinkable feat for him; far from it, actually. But he’d never spend the next day trying to work. After a sleepless night, any attempt at productivity is an automatic lost cause. 

Phil, however, looks like he’s gearing up to do just that.

"Go to bed, you dolt,” Dan says, like it’s obvious. Phil looks at him like he’s stupid.

“I have to turn the paper _ in, _you know,” he says slowly. 

“So email your professor,” Dan tells him. “You look like you’re gonna pass out any second.”

Phil smiles just a bit, a tiny spark of amusement lighting up his very tired eyes. “Aw, you’re worried about me.” He reaches out, playfully patting Dan on the cheek. “I’ll be fine, honey. You just worry about yourself for today, alright?”

When Phil takes his hand away and heads out of the kitchen with his coffee, Dan wonders why his mouth feels so dry.

*

Eva texts him.

The open Word document on his computer is completely obscured by his browser window. Fuck if he knows how many Smosh videos he’s watched in a row this afternoon, but anything to take his mind off the twisting knot of guilt and self-loathing he feels in his gut every time he stares at a blank page that should’ve been full of words and sitting on his professor’s desk a week ago.

He’s tempted to ignore her, but they’re friends. They’re… trying. So he picks up the phone.

** _eva:_ ** _ i saw tommy and chaz on campus today. they said to say hi and fucking text them back once in a while xP _

He regrets his decision then. It takes about two minutes of staring at his phone for him to think of something normal to type back. 

_ lol. they srsly need a life if they actually want ME to text them _

He sets his phone down with a sigh, satisfied with his one passable social interaction for the evening. That is, until his phone vibrates again less than a minute later.

** _eva:_ ** _ why do u say that? they miss u. they were just as bummed as i was that u didn’t get in here _

Oh, _ that’s _rich. 

It’s probably not fair of him to think that. Secondary school would’ve been even more hellish without those guys, he knows that. But he’s not cut out for a lifelong friendship with them. He won’t say that to Eva, though.

_ jk, _he replies. 

** _eva:_ ** _ good, because u bet ur ass we’re all going out together when we’re home for xmas. we miss ur drunken antics ;) _

He frowns and sets his phone down again, this time without answering. If she asks, he’ll say he got distracted studying. She won’t believe him, but she also won’t technically be able to prove he’s lying. A familiar song and dance. He looks back at his computer screen.

He could try typing some words, or he could watch _ Kid Craps Himself in Drift Car! _again, but he’s pretty sure he’ll feel like shit regardless of what he clicks. He closes his browser only to see the cursor at the top of his Word document blinking at him mockingly. He glares at it for a moment before closing out of that too, standing up, and walking across the hall.

*

“Why’d you pick English language and linguistics, of all fucking things?” Dan asks. He’s laying on Phil’s bed again, studying a sheet of symbols that he’d found shoved underneath the pillow. Phil spins around in his desk chair, frowning. 

“That’s my IPA chart,” he says. His tone is bordering on whiny. “Put it back.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at him.“It was under your pillow.”

“I know,” Phil replies. “I have a big exam tomorrow. So put it back, please.”

He casts Phil a dubious look once he catches on. “Mate, don’t tell me you believe you can absorb this through osmosis.”

Phil rolls his eyes, standing up from his desk chair and striding over to snatch the paper out of Dan’s grasp. “No, I’m not stupid.” He smooths out a couple wrinkles in the sheet before lifting his pillow and placing it back underneath. “It’s just for luck.”

“Right,” Dan nods as Phil heads back to his desk. “Luck. _ That _ makes sense, sorry.”

Phil plops back down in his desk chair, picking up his pen and glancing down at his study sheet crammed with messy notes and smudges of ink.

“You didn’t answer me, by the way,” Dan says. “You wanna be a linguist when you graduate?”

“Probably about as much as you wanna be a lawyer,” He replies shortly, dropping his pen as quickly as he’d picked it up.

That’s an unusual tone of voice for Phil. It makes Dan scoot further back on the bed, for some reason. 

“Sorry,” Phil says after a moment. He picks his pen back up again and taps it against his knee. “I’m not in the mood to think about the future right now. I barely wanna think about the present.” 

He actually looks closely at Phil then, for the first time since interrupting his study session. His skin is dull and even paler than usual, forehead crinkled with worry lines and his mouth turned down in a small frown. His undereyes are dark, too. He looks exhausted. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. “You don’t look so good.”

Phil breathes out a heavy sigh, closes his eyes and nods. “It was just stupid of me to put that paper off this weekend,” he mumbles. “I’m fucking tired, I’ve got a migraine and I just want to study as much as I can before I pass out, or at least til it hurts too much to have my eyes open anymore.”

Dan slides off the bed, walks over and crouches down next to Phil’s desk chair to get a better look at him. Yeah, he looks fucking awful.

“You should rest,” Dan tells him, while he’s trying to ignore the guilt simmering in his own body. “At least for a little while, Phil. Please?”

Phil looks at him miserably. “I have stuff to do. I don’t wanna fail.” He sounds resigned, despite what he’s saying. So Dan stands up again, taking both of Phil’s hands and hauling him up out of the chair.

“I don’t think you could fail if you tried,” he says - or grunts, rather, because Phil’s really not making an effort to stand up on his own. “But I promise I’ll wake you up in a couple hours.” 

He feels better watching Phil crawl on top of his bed, stretching and sighing loudly as he sinks down into his pillow. “Can you get me some tablets?” He asks in a small voice once he’s settled down, eyes already closed. “They’re in my top desk drawer.”

“Yeah,” Dan nods. He turns and opens the drawer, rifling around its disorganised contents for a bit before locating a bottle of ibuprofen. He uncaps it and brings it back to Phil, along with the half-empty water bottle sitting next to his laptop.

Phil doesn’t say anything, just casts him a grateful look as he shakes a few pills out into his hand and swallows them down with a large gulp of water.

“I’m sorry,” Dan says as Phil hands both bottles back to him.

Phil closes his eyes again. “For what?” He asks, shifting around til he’s on his side with the pillow hugged to his cheek. 

Dan caps the bottles and puts them back in their respective places. “For not noticing you seemed poorly when I barged in here?” He says hesitantly, still facing Phil’s desk. “And for keeping you busy all weekend so you had to put your essay off. I’m a shit friend.”

He turns around at the sound of Phil’s low, breathy chuckle. “Don’t be stupid,” he mumbles, mostly into the pillow. It’s obvious he’s having a hard time keeping awake. “I hung out with you ‘cause I wanted to. S’not your fault.”

He’s not convinced, but he’s also not going to argue with Phil. Not now, anyway, when he’s so delicate and tired. “Okay,” he whispers instead. “I’ll come wake you up in a few hours, alright?”

“Dan,” Phil speaks up again while he’s en route to the door. “You don’t have to go.”

Dan pauses, not bothering to turn back. “You’re napping.”

“I know sometimes you just don’t wanna be alone,” he says around a yawn. It’s only a matter of seconds now before sleep takes him. Dan turns back, finally. Phil really knows him that well. His chest feels tight as he looks at him, his breaths peacefully beginning to even out.

_ This is stupid, _ he thinks. _ Such a stupid thing to be overwhelmed by. _

He’s just about to finally head out the door, when Phil whispers one last word before slipping away completely. 

“Stay.”

*

Being in the quiet of Phil’s room is kind of confusing at first. He finds himself hyperaware of every little noise in the room, from the occasional clanging of the radiator, to the patter of rain beginning to come down against the window, to his own breathing. He doesn’t want to move, or do anything really, at the risk of waking Phil up, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Phil’s out like a light, surely it’d take more than a tiny bit of ambient noise to wake him. Still, Dan feels frozen on the spot, just watching Phil’s deep, steady breathing. 

It’s very… vulnerable.

He doesn’t often think of Phil that way. Gentle, anxious, sensitive… sure, but never vulnerable. Phil just seems so often to hold himself together in all the ways Dan can’t. He takes a couple steps closer to the bed, biting his lip as he stares again at the dark, dark circles under Phil’s eyes. Surely it’s taken more than one sleepless night for them to appear.

Dan wonders how long they’ve actually been there. Wonders how long he’s been so self absorbed that he hasn’t stopped to think about the fact that Phil’s a person, too.

The tightness in his chest returns as he sits carefully down on the floor next to Phil’s bed. There’s just something about Phil that’s very transfixing, that he’s never properly thought about. Something very magnetic. He doesn’t know what it is, except that it’s the thing that tells him he wants Phil when something doesn’t feel right. 

Whatever it is, it’s got him a little bit fucked up.

*

His mouse has been hovering over the _ Send _button for probably ten minutes by the time he hears a tiny, soft murmur coming from the head of the bed. He looks away from his laptop screen to see Phil stirring, not far from where Dan’s cheek is resting against the side of the mattress.

“Hey,” he says when Phil’s eyes flutter open. “It’s only 7:30. I wasn’t gonna wake you up until 8.”

Phil shifts to sit up slowly, seemingly surveying the room before his eyes land on Dan, still seated on the floor.

“Were you sitting there this whole time?” He asks. His voice is soft and deep and scratchy. “You could’ve sat at my desk. Or on the bed.”

“Right here was fine,” Dan shrugs. He glances down at his laptop screen again. “I finished those article summaries I was supposed to have done last week.”

Phil raises an eyebrow in what looks like pleasant surprise. “You did homework?”

Yeah, Dan’s also not sure how to explain suddenly becoming incredibly productive while sitting at Phil’s bedside. He’s not sure how to say that reading and summarising some of the most boring information he’s ever read was a welcome distraction from the twisty, fluttery feelings in his chest and stomach.

“I still need to build up the courage to send it to my professor,” he says, in lieu of even trying to explain. “I wrote up this whole stupid email but I’m half-convinced she’s just gonna tell me that it’s too late and to fuck off.” 

“Can I read it?” Phil asks. He’s still mostly curled up on the bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I’ll check your grammar.”

Dan snorts. “Because your brain is _ so _functional right now?”

Phil just holds his hands out expectantly, maintaining the most prissy expression he can while still only about three-quarters awake. Dan rolls his eyes and hands his laptop over. 

“Don’t make fun of my lame excuses,” he says as Phil takes it and sets it on his own lap. “Or my word choice, just-”

Phil hands him his laptop back before he can even finish the sentence. “Done.”

Dan stares dumbly at him. “What?”

“I sent it for you,” Phil says simply.

“Phiiiiiiiilll!” His voice pitches up involuntarily, skipping past surprise and going straight to the whiny zone. He puts his laptop down on the floor and crosses his arms. “It wasn’t ready!”

“Okay, first of all,” Phil says, closing his eyes and rubbing his fingers against his temples, “Ow. Please don’t screech at me until this migraine is completely worn off. Second of all,” he opens his eyes again, shooting Dan a matter-of-fact look, “Wasn’t it? How many times did you read that over without changing it before I woke up?”

Dan breaks eye contact before huffing in resignation. “I dunno,” he mumbles. “A lot.”

“So…?”

“So, fine, you’re right,” he admits. “But fuck you anyway.”

Phil smiles at him sweetly. “That’s the spirit.”

*

_ Daniel, _

_ Thank you for your honesty. I will accept your late assignment this time. _

_ Your summaries are concise, practical, and well-worded. Had you turned it in on the due date, your total score would have been a 90/100. However, out of fairness to the other students, I must deduct 5 points for each day that the assignment was past due. _

_ -5 points/day x 5 days = -25 points _

_ 90 - 25 = 65/100 (final adjusted score) _

_ If you find that you have trouble completing future assignments on time, please contact me during my office hours, Wednesdays and Thursdays 4pm - 6pm. _

_ Best, _

_ Prof. Samson _

“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Phil grins as he hands Dan’s phone back to him. “65 is easier to recover from than a zero. Your professor seems nice.”

Dan wordlessly drops his phone back into the pocket of his pyjama pants, because actually, he doesn’t know why his first instinct upon receiving this email was to run across the hall and tell Phil about it. Also, he doesn’t know why Phil seems so excited for him, especially so early in the morning. 

“Do you feel better now?” Phil asks, a little more softly. He’s dressed in just his pyjama pants, too, leaning tiredly against his doorframe. His hair is messy, his pants are rumpled and his eyes are a bit puffy, like he really did drag himself out of bed just now to congratulate Dan on doing the bare minimum.

He feels better than the last time they’d been standing like this, for sure. Phil’s not scared shitless of his presence, and there’s no hunky blonde guy waiting for him back in bed. He gets Phil’s full attention, he gets to be the only recipient of Phil’s sleepy morning smile, and that’s so satisfying. It feels really fucking good.

He nods in response to the question. “Thanks for sending it for me.” He looks Phil up and down, noting his seemingly more relaxed posture and facial expression. “What about you? How’s your migraine?”

“I think I pretty much slept it off,” Phil replies. “Which is good, but I didn’t study enough either. So I’m gonna need a drinking partner once I come back from absolutely tanking it this afternoon.”

He’s looking at Dan hopefully. Adorably hopefully. Something inside of him feels a small tug towards Phil when he does, but he pushes it down. 

“I’ll be ready.”

*

He’s texting Eva again that afternoon, feigning interest in people from Wokingham and what they’re up to now. He couldn’t give less of a shit, and honestly, part of him wants to ask her why she does. She was always better than him in every way, he knows that, but she was better than Wokingham altogether, too. If he had as much going for him as she has for herself, he’d have left their hometown in the dust. 

She’s not like that, though. She’s sentimental. She… cares about stuff. 

That puzzles him.

His phone buzzes on the desk next to his keyboard and he picks it up, wondering who they could possibly have left to talk about, anyway. There’s only so many people in Wokingham and even she doesn’t like all of them.

It’s not Eva, though. It’s Phil.

** _phil:_ ** _ THAT WENT SO MUCH WORSE THAN I EXPECTED _

** _phil:_ ** _ it was awful. i don’t think i got a single question right _

** _phil:_ ** _ they’re gonna take one look at my exam and just kick me out of the entire school forever, dan. oh my god _

Dan rolls his eyes. Anyone who ribs _ him _for being overly dramatic has never dealt with Phil under any amount of stress.

** _dan:_ ** _ damn, i’ll miss you :/ can i have ur mini fridge when u move out? _

** _phil:_ ** _ ur a twat _

** _dan: _ ** _ love u too :) _

Phil stops responding after that, and after a long-ish while Dan finds himself shifting around anxiously in his chair. Maybe Phil doesn’t need jokey banter, he thinks. Maybe he’s actually distressed and maybe it wouldn’t have killed Dan to be fucking genuine for once, maybe-

He’s cut off from his thoughts when Phil bursts into his room looking slightly miserable, bottle of Malibu in one hand and a two-litre bottle of Coke in the other. It looks so unlike him that Dan almost starts laughing. 

“Don’t smirk at me,” Phil groans as he sets the bottles down on Dan’s desk and lets the door swing shut behind him, before dropping his backpack and falling face first onto the bed. “My life might be over.”

“It’s not. It’s literally one exam,” Dan says matter-of-factly. He grabs two cups and pours a generous amount of rum into the bottom of each, then tops them off with Coke. Neither liquid is cold, so it’s gonna taste like shit, but that won’t matter once they’re a couple drinks in. 

“_But, _just because it’s only one exam is no excuse not to drink the pain away.” He takes a seat on the end of his bed, poking at Phil’s foot. “Come on, now. Bottoms up.”

*

“Was this a bad idea?” Phil asks, several episodes of _ Friends _ and a few rounds of _ Guitar Hero _ later. His voice is a little slurred, but not too much. He’s only on his third drink but he’s already slumped down and to the side, resting his head on Dan’s shoulder. He really just sounds… glum, more than anything. “We have class tomorrow.”

Dan shrugs, jostling Phil’s head a bit. “I think it’s alright. Long as we don’t make a habit of it,” he says. Getting drunk on a Tuesday isn’t something he’s never done before. It doesn’t go _well, _usually, but with Phil around, he doesn’t see how it could go too badly.

Phil just mumbles noncommittally in response. Then there’s a slurping noise, slightly too close to Dan’s ear for comfort, as Phil finishes the rest of his cup. He lets out a sigh of relief after, and then he’s quiet for a moment before sitting up and facing Dan. 

“I kind of wanna text Sam,” he says. His eyes look big and a little sad. “I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe I got ahead of myself when I broke things off. The sex was fun, and I mean…” he looks down at himself disdainfully, “I’m not exactly relationship material right now anyway. Or ever. I’m a mess.”

Dan’s heart plummets all the way into his stomach, heat prickling at his temples and the back of his neck. He takes a gulp of his drink to avoid answering too quickly.

“I, um,” he says after he swallows. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He doesn’t want Phil back with Sam. He knows that. He’s not too proud to admit that he doesn’t control his stupid jealous streak very well. That’s why he feels sick when he thinks about Phil sharing his bed with someone else. That’s why he feels panicky when Phil frowns at him. He’s going to ask why, and Dan has no idea what to say without sounding like a manipulative, controlling asshole.

Phil’s phone dings before either of them can say anything. He pulls it out and his face goes even whiter than usual when he looks at the screen.

“Oh, god,” he says quietly. “The scores are posted already.”

Thank fuck. School anxiety. Dan can handle that a lot better. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he offers. “And even if it is, one bad grade isn’t going to kill you, Phil. We’ll just get really drunk tonight and then you can study extra hard next time.”

Phil blows out a breath, taps the screen a couple of times and then stares at his phone, while Dan stares at him. Carefully. But Phil stays mostly expressionless, eyes flickering across the screen over and over. When he does finally speak, he sounds confused.

“I… got an A,” he says quietly, after what feels like forever. Then, a little louder. “I got an A. I got an A!” He practically shouts the last bit, pouncing forward to throw his arms around Dan’s neck in what would probably be a bone-crushing hug if Phil were less drunk. “I’m not getting kicked out!”

“You weren’t gonna get kicked out anyway, you dingus,” Dan snorts. He hugs Phil back, though, arms wrapping around his waist. “But congratulations.”

“Thanks for taking care of me last night,” Phil mumbles into his shoulder. He’s just close enough that Dan can feel his breath against his neck. Usually he hates that, but right now it feels strangely good. His heart speeds up a little. “I probably would’ve been even worse off today if you hadn’t made me rest.”

“I mean,” Dan shrugs, warmth spreading throughout his chest. “It was kinda the least I could do. But, you’re welcome.” He closes his eyes and leans into the embrace a bit more, because it’s just nice. Phil’s warm and solid and comforting, not that he even needs comforting right now. Or maybe he does. He’s not sure. He just feels a little floaty and he knows that’s just the rum doing its thing but that doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.

“Oh,” Phil pulls back after a moment and Dan tries not to feel disappointed at the loss of Phil’s arms around him. “I didn’t get to ask, why not?”

Dan blinks hard a couple times, trying to remember where their conversation had left off. 

“Why don’t you think I should text Sam, I mean,” Phil clarifies before Dan can ask. “I just… I don’t really see what could go wrong with it.”

Oh, that. Dan breathes in deeply through his nose and violently ignores the heart plummeting and heat prickling, same as he’d felt before. “Um,” he thinks his voice sounds scratchy, but he’s not really sure because his head feels a bit empty and faraway altogether. He’s not sure if he can trust what he thinks. Phil looks so genuine, waiting for Dan to respond, like he actually cares about what he has to say. Because he does. For some reason that makes him feel like crying.

He must black out or something for a second, because he has no way of understanding what happens next. All he knows is that one moment he’s staring into Phil’s kind, patient eyes, feeling like he’s about to burst in every possible way. 

And then the next moment, his eyes are closed and his lips are on Phil’s. Like, seriously _ on _Phil’s. Not a brief moment of contact he could pass off as a clumsy mistake if he tried hard enough, but proper kissing. His head is spinning, he’s flushed and hot all over and he’s properly kissing Phil… or trying to, anyway.

When Phil’s lips don’t move against his right away, he knows he should stop, but that seems impossible. It feels too primal, the way they’re connected right now. Like something inside him knows he’s supposed to be doing this, even if it doesn’t know why. Plus, he realises as he begins coming to his senses again, pulling back means facing the aftermath and he doesn’t want to. Not if it’s gonna be bad. There can’t be any aftermath until there’s an after. So he stays kissing Phil until he feels like he’s on the verge of breaking down, ready for the best thing that’s ever happened to him to implode and be ruined forever.

He kisses him until the panic feels physically too much. He’s about to break away simply because he doesn’t think he can take it anymore. 

But then, Phil kisses him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for reading!
> 
> [reblogs](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lestered/626429571864068096) are very much appreciated ♥️
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://lestered.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

He’s going to die.

At this point, that might not even be such a bad thing. His heart feels like it ought to be beating out of his chest right now, and he knows he must be breathing but he doesn’t feel like he is. When Phil’s lips move against his, hesitantly at first and then with a bit more purpose, it’s like the bed’s been yanked out from underneath him and he’s falling into an infinite abyss, faster and faster until he starts losing oxygen. Then Phil’s hands are on his face, brushing gently over his cheeks as they move to cup his jaw. 

Dan whimpers. _ Loudly. _And it takes every ounce of self control he’s got left to not make the exact same noise when Phil pulls back.

He sucks in a deep breath and opens his eyes. Phil’s face is still just centimetres away from his, the only difference between now and before simply being that their lips are no longer touching. Phil’s eyes are wide and confused, lips parted slightly and his eyebrows drawn just enough for a single wrinkle to etch itself cutely into his forehead.

“Dan,” he whispers after a moment. He’s not making an effort to move further away.

Dan clears his throat. “Yeah,” he whispers back.

Phil stares at him for a bit. And then, “You kissed me.”

“Yeah,” he repeats.

“I thought you were straight.”

“I am.”

“But you kissed me.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m… not a girl.”

“I know.”

They fall silent again. Dan wonders if he can manage to say more than two words in a row, but… no, he decides he can’t. His head is empty at the moment. A dull, echoing nothingness. That means he’s set to have a complete freak-out later on, but for now… nothing.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Phil asks, eventually. He still hasn’t moved.

Dan purses his lips together, humming slightly as he sighs out through his nose. “Not really.”

Phil nods slowly. “M’kay.”

Then they’re both just staring. Part of him wonders what’s going on in Phil’s head right now, and part of him thinks the prospect of knowing that is absolutely terrifying. He feels like he’s drowning, but in a kind of good way. Where everything is weightless and muted and the only thing he feels can move him is that phantom tug in his chest when he looks at Phil. The one he’s ignored and ignored and ignored until just a minute ago, really. 

He can’t go back to ignoring it now.

Like being sucked into a black hole, he leans in again.

Phil meets him halfway.

*

_ “Mate, this is so depressing,” Phil says. He’s standing in the middle of Dan’s room with his backpack slung over one shoulder, glancing around at the neutral sheets and bare walls. Dan hangs back near the door. “No wonder you’re in my room all the fucking time.” _

_ “I’m in your room all the fucking time because I have no other friends,” Dan corrects him, tossing his own backpack onto the bed before climbing on top of it. “Not because of your impeccable interior design choices, don’t flatter yourself.” _

_ “Yeah,” Phil climbs onto the bed as well and sets his backpack down on his lap. “Because that’s less sad.” _

_ Dan frowns at him when their eyes meet. Phil keeps his expression neutral. They both hold the facade for as long as possible before caving and dissolving into laughter. _

_ He likes that about Phil; that he can dish it out almost as well as he takes it. He’s sweet as pie to everyone else, but he’d caught on pretty quickly to the fact that Dan doesn’t really do sweetness. Dan’s affection resides beneath about twenty layers of sarcasm and general twattiness, which maybe explains the whole “no other friends” thing. Phil had seen through that. And Dan… Dan feels lucky. Not that he’ll say it, but he thinks that Phil probably has a way of knowing. He’s perceptive like that. _

_ “How long did they say it’d take to fix your ceiling?” Dan asks, watching Phil unzip his backpack and take his laptop out. A bunch of loose papers come out along with it, scattering over the duvet. _

_ Phil shrugs. “It shouldn’t be that long. They said the water damage isn’t too bad but they still haven’t fixed the leak upstairs, so I guess they’re keeping an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t… I dunno. Collapse? I told them I’d just be in here until they’re done.” He glances over at the door, then back at Dan. “I mean, if that’s… okay. Because I can go somewhere else if you-” _

_ “You can stay, idiot,” Dan cuts him off. “I didn’t say you could come over just so I could immediately kick you out.” _

_ “Wouldn’t put it past you,” Phil mumbles. He tosses a mini eraser in Dan’s direction as he spreads his notes and papers in front of him. It hits Dan on the cheek. He laughs to himself and leans back against the wall, making himself comfortable at the foot of his bed since Phil’s occupying the head. Then he pulls his own laptop out, because if Phil’s set on working then he might as well be, too. _

_ It takes about five minutes and one glance at his course syllabus for that plan to go entirely out the window. He’s on the Formula 1 website before he knows it, reading up on driver stats because, sure. Why not. That’s a better use of his time than the assigned reading. _

_ He’s not cut out for this shit. _

_ “You don’t have to pretend to be working just ‘cause I’m here,” Phil says after some time. The consistent clacking of his keyboard is a stark contrast to the occasional click of Dan’s mouse. He doesn’t even look away from what he’s doing to say it. _

_ Dan sits up a little straighter. “What makes you think I’m not working?” _

_ “I guessed.” Phil does look over at him then, his head cocked slightly to the side. “ _ Are _ you working?” _

_ He slumps back against the wall again. “Piss off.” _

_ Secretly he’s flattered. He’s known Phil for just over two weeks, but it feels like longer. He feels like Phil _ gets _ him. Phil listens to him when he talks. He knows he watches him and his body language, his facial expressions and tones of voice and he’s starting to pick up little tells. And he’s doing it because he wants to. He’s making an effort because they’re friends. _

_ Dan’s not used to there being an effort - on his part, or anyone else’s. _

_ He doesn’t feel like he knows Phil as well. _

_ It’s confusing because Phil’s so kind and warm and genuine and one would think, really, that someone like him would have an open-book sort of air. But Phil holds himself very carefully. He says enough, but never too much. He seems sort of… nervous. Dan’s intrigued by him. _

_ Phil shuts his laptop. “Wanna play Mario Kart instead?” _

_ Yeah, Dan thinks, already grinning and shoving his backpack off of the bed. He could get used to having a friend like Phil. _

_ “Only if you’re ready to get your ass kicked.” _

*

He wakes up hungover. 

Not emotionally hungover like last time, but actually, physically hungover. Temples throbbing, stomach churning and pain shooting behind his eyes when he opens them to the light of day. He grunts inelegantly, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into the pillow as he waits for the fog to lift from his brain.

First and most obviously, he feels like shit. He drank too much last night. Secondly, he’s in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday. His skinny jeans are cutting uncomfortably into his hips, but getting them off requires moving and he can’t be arsed. Thirdly… 

He freezes for a moment, then rolls back over and sits up so fast that a wave of nausea hits him. He breathes through it - in through his nose, out through his mouth, slowly. It’s probably the only thing that keeps him from immediately panicking. 

Because thirdly, he kissed Phil last night. 

He spends a minute fumbling around mentally, because kissing Phil - his best friend Phil, his _ male _best friend Phil - sounds like something that should’ve been a dream. A hard pit of anxiety takes hold in his gut when he accepts that he’s kidding himself. 

It happened. 

Because he remembers Phil’s lips, soft and smooth and tasting of coconut rum. He remembers freezing cold dread and then hot, sparking exhilaration. He remembers giving up on mixers and going for straight swigs of Malibu in between snogs. He remembers Phil’s warm, solid body underneath him, the light citrusy scent of his cologne, the bone-deep satisfaction from every whimper and moan coaxed out of that sweet, pretty mouth, he remembers… 

He pauses briefly.

He doesn’t remember. The memory fades out after a certain point. He doesn’t remember Phil leaving. 

But he’s alone. 

That makes him feel ill all over again. 

His body feels like it’s moving on autopilot as he springs out of bed. The person staring at him from the full-length mirror propped up against his wall doesn’t look like him. 

Actually, that’s not true. It looks exactly like him. Confused and disheveled and gross, but still him. But it can’t be. Because the person staring at him from the mirror spent last night kissing Phil into oblivion. And the person staring back at him from the mirror is him. And that doesn’t add up. 

There’s only one thing that adds up in his mind, really. And that is:

He’s well and truly fucked.

*

The morning passes by in a silent panic. 

He’s got a lecture he could go to today - two lectures, actually. It’d be good for him to go to them. To get out, to remember that there’s an entire world outside of the cosy little personal hell he’s been crafting inside of his own mind.

He’s not going to do that. That would make too much sense. 

What he does instead is take too many ibuprofen tablets and stand under a scalding hot shower, occasionally blinking water out of his eyes as he lets the heat gently evaporate the pain from his head. He shudders when he takes a sip from the cold bottle of water he’d brought in with him, the contrast in temperature giving him a bit of a boost. Hydration is important.

Killing a hangover is something he knows how to do. It’s something he’s good at. Something he’s done so many times that he doesn’t even have to pay attention, really. He just goes through the motions and doesn’t think. 

Doesn’t think about what he’s doing, and definitely doesn’t think about Phil. Definitely doesn’t think about what could’ve happened once he was past his blackout point last night. Definitely doesn’t wonder if Phil got to that point, too. Definitely doesn’t try to work out when Phil left his room - did he wake up before Dan this morning and leave, confused? Or did something happen last night to scare him off? Does he have a better recollection than Dan, or a worse one? 

Or maybe none at all? 

No, that’s too good to hope for. 

He definitely doesn’t think about any of that stuff. That would make his heart pound an unhealthy amount, and that would be a stupid thing to do to himself. 

Dan happens to be stupid, though. Even when he doesn’t want to be. He doesn’t seem to have a choice in the matter. So instead of doing what he should be doing - which is literally anything else - he’s standing in the hallway, dripping wet, facing Phil’s door. His hand, clutching the towel that’s wrapped around his hips, is shaking slightly. 

_ Fucking turn around, _ he thinks to himself. _ Go to your room. It’s literally right behind you. Turn around and go inside. _

He can’t. His eyes are glued to the door of Phil’s room, where Phil may or may not even be right now. Dan doesn’t fucking know. That’s the problem. He needs to know where Phil is. He needs to know he doesn’t hate him. But he can’t do something like knock on Phil’s door, or pick up his phone and send a text. 

Again… too much sense.

Then, all at once, the door swings open and Phil steps out into the hall. Their eyes meet and Dan quickly steps back until he hits his own door, feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

“Oh,” Phil’s cheeks are a little pink. Dan can’t help but notice that he averts his eyes almost instantly. “Hey, Dan. Did you, uh… did you need something?” He’s fully dressed, clutching the straps of his backpack not unlike a bashful schoolboy. Except he looks less bashful and more… frightened. Dan doesn’t blame him, he feels the same. 

His brain musters up enough functioning for him to shake his head slowly and stand up straight. “Um, no. Just on my way back from the shower.”

_ And staring at my door like a fucking freak, _Phil ought to say, but he doesn’t. He’s too nice. 

Dan’s suddenly very aware of the water droplets clinging to his own bare chest. 

“Okay,” Phil nods. Dan’s pretty sure he sees his hand twitch, a nervous habit of Phil’s he’s picked up on over time. “I’m gonna go to class, then.”

Dan just nods back and doesn’t say anything as Phil turns and paces down the hall, waiting until he disappears into the stairwell before opening the door to his own room. He feels like he’s run a marathon as he steps inside and leans back against it after it closes. 

Phil hadn’t seemed upset to see him, but he hadn’t exactly seemed happy. He hadn’t seemed distressed, but he hadn’t exactly seemed calm.

Phil’s probably as confused as he is. _ Or maybe even more, _ Dan thinks as he drops his towel and climbs back into bed. He doesn’t even bother pulling on a pair of pants. He can tell himself that he was just being a stupid drunk, at least until he falls back to sleep - one of his tried and true avoid-everything tactics. Poor Phil has no way of explaining this to himself.

He’ll make it right, he tells himself as he shuts his eyes and draws the duvet up around his shoulders. Just not right now. 

Right now, the last thing he wants to do is be conscious.

*

_ Sunday morning smells of incense, oak, and his grandma’s perfume. _

_ Dan likes church probably more than the average six-year-old. He doesn’t exactly understand it, but there are a lot of other things he can appreciate while he’s not listening to the priest. _

_ Like the sound of the organ, and the singers in the choir. Like the light streaming in through the stained glass windows. Like the cakes and biscuits served in the parish house after the service. _

_ His grandma’s church is a small one, the congregation made up of mostly older people. Some of them bring their grandkids during the school year, enough for them to hold a small Sunday school class in the basement. But in the summer, Dan’s often the only child around. He doesn’t mind that; it just means more attention for him, usually. _

_ So he likes it. It’s nice to have one-on-one time with his grandma, while his grandad sleeps in and his mum gets some peace and quiet. She’s very pregnant now, and she seems tired all the time. She says her back and her feet hurt a lot. Sometimes she’s sick for what seems like no reason, but his grandma says that’s normal. She seems happy despite all of that, though, so he’s happy too. He’s going to be a good big brother, he’s decided. _

_ His grandma nudges him gently as she slides forward in the pew, before kneeling down on the cushion that rests at their feet. He follows her, quickly kneeling and clasping his hands. She gives him an approving smile as he recites the prayer he’s just recently memorised in full. _

_ Our Father who art in heaven, _

_ Hallowed be Thy name. _

_ Thy kingdom come, _

_ Thy will be done, _

_ On earth as it is in heaven. _

_ Give us this day our daily bread. _

_ And forgive us our trespasses, _

_ As we forgive those who trespass against us. _

_ And lead us not into temptation, _

_ But deliver us from evil. _

_ For Thine is the kingdom, _

_ And the power, and the glory, _

_ For ever and ever. _

_ Amen. _

_ He doesn’t know what it means, but it sounds nice. _

_ He sits back in the pew and rests his head against his grandma’s shoulder._

*

He doesn’t see Phil the rest of the day. 

He doesn’t see him the day after that, either. No hanging out, no passing in the hall, not even a text. Dan’s on the verge of seriously losing it when Friday morning rolls around. 

The past two days have consisted almost exclusively of trying to convince himself that he’s overreacting, that he and Phil are _ fine. _But they aren’t, no matter how adamantly he tries to fool himself. Ever since move-in, not a day’s gone by that he hasn’t spoken to Phil... until now.

That, as far as he’s concerned, is the complete opposite of fine.

He’s definitely reached a new low when he’s skulking around the kitchen Friday afternoon, hoping for a chance encounter. It’ll happen, long as Phil sticks to his routine of stopping in to make himself a coffee after his last class of the day. There’s no reason he shouldn’t, unless he’s avoiding Dan so religiously that he’s taken to staying out of the communal areas, as well. 

So this is what Dan’s been reduced to. Standing in their kitchen, bent down with his head stuck in the fridge in hopes that Phil won’t immediately recognize him and run away. Damn it, Phil’s supposed to be different from the rest of the shitty people in the world, Dan included, and he still managed to get caught up in one of Dan’s stupid games.

Which is Dan’s fault, obviously. But he can feel a little indignant towards the universe for making him this way.

His back and knees are getting tired, so he moves to stand up, to give his joints a break, when a cheerful voice pipes up behind him. 

“Dan!”

He smacks his head on the top of the fridge out of surprise, but bites his tongue to keep from cursing anyone out. Instead, he backs out, straightens up slowly and turns around, gently rubbing the back of his head.

“Hey, Ruby,” he smiles weakly when he sees the owner of said cheerful voice walking towards him. 

He likes Ruby. She’s one of the people in their hall that he thinks could be a friend, if he actually tried. She’s loud and opinionated, like him, but kinder. A firecracker, too, with the alcohol tolerance of an elephant. Today she’s wearing an oversized flannel over top of a floral dress - two patterns that ought to clash horribly, but it works on her somehow. She seems to have a knack for that. Her signature bangles jingle on both of her wrists with every little move she makes. It complements her personality in a strange way, the jingling. He’s not really sure how to describe it. But it’s nice. She’s nice. He’s usually glad to see her.

But Phil’s walking beside her at the moment, looking down at his feet rather than in Dan’s direction. That makes his smile falter. He quickly turns his attention back to Ruby. 

“Mate, where the hell have you been?” She asks, bouncing up to the counter beside him and opening up one of the cupboards. She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach it. “No one’s seen you in days. Even Phil said he didn’t know what you were up to.”

So Phil _ has _been out and about, talking to their other mates. Just not him. That’s upsetting, but he pushes it down temporarily. Ruby grabs two mugs from the cupboard, passing one over to Phil as he comes up behind her. Dan watches him smile at her, set his mug on the counter and reach for the kettle.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, still watching as Phil holds the kettle under the tap. “I’ve been, um. Under the weather. Staying in my room so I don’t disease everyone.”

That seems to catch Phil’s attention. He glances over briefly before setting the kettle down on its heater.

“Oh, rough,” Ruby sighs, “I heard there was something going around. Nice of you to quarantine, though.”

She fills her mug with just tap water and takes a sip. “I guess you’re probably not coming out with us tonight, then?”

He looks over at Phil, who doesn’t look back. He’s watching the kettle with intent.

“I...” he clears his throat a bit. “Yeah, I wouldn’t count on it.”

She takes another sip of her water, giving a sympathetic hum while she’s at it. 

“Too bad. I almost thought I’d be able to coax Phil out with us tonight, but... can’t expect him to come if you’re not, huh?”

Phil looks over at her abruptly, and Dan feels his cheeks warm up. 

“What?” They ask in unison. 

“You guys never go anywhere without each other,” she says simply, glancing between the two of them. “Everyone knows that.”

Phil looks like he’s trying to figure out something to say when the kettle beeps. He reaches for it, relief written all over his expression at the excuse to seem occupied.

“Well, I should go,” Ruby says, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. Dan, on the other hand, is pretty sure he can taste it. “Just stopped by for some water before I dehydrate the fuck out of myself tonight.” She holds her mug up to them. “Cheers, lads.” 

And then she’s off, leaving just him and Phil.

In the kitchen. 

Together. Alone.

Unfortunately - or maybe not - that doesn’t last long.

“I’ve gotta go too, actually,” Phil says, once he’s stirred his Nescafe into the hot water. No milk, no sugar. That’s not right. “See you, Dan.”

And then, Dan’s all by himself.

*

He cries. That seems to be sort of his new thing. It’s pathetic, but he doesn’t care. He lays in bed and cries and doesn’t even pretend that he doesn’t know exactly why.

He’s cried over almost everyone in his life, at some point or another. He’d just never expected to have to cry over Phil. 

It’s his own fault if Phil wants nothing to do with him. Still, there’s something about it that just feels so cold. Maybe he hadn’t realised before how much warmth Phil brought into his life. But now that it’s gone, he’s all but shivering. 

He cries until he’s too tired to keep going, or all his tears have dried up, or whatever. Until he’s simply laying still in his bed, making no noise except for the occasional sniffle. It’s starting to get dark in his room, and he has no plans to get up and turn on the light. 

But then he hears a soft knocking on his door. 

His heart stops.

He sits up warily, hesitating in place at first in case his mind is playing tricks on him. 

The knock comes again. 

He throws the covers off of himself and bolts to the door, really not caring if he looks sad or desperate when he yanks it open. He knows it’ll be Phil, but that doesn’t make the wash of relief in his chest any less sweet when he sees him standing there.

“Phil,” he sighs, and Phil’s mouth twitches up into a small smile.

“Hey,” he nods, then looks past Dan into his room. It’s embarrassingly messy. “Uh, can I come in?”

“Yeah!” He’s still racing to process what’s got Phil showing up at his door after avoiding him this afternoon, but he knows for sure that this is what he wants. “Yes, definitely, come in,” he flicks the light on as he steps aside, then closes the door once Phil’s in. 

He opens his mouth, even though he’s not sure of what to say yet. But Phil starts talking immediately, anyway.

“I’m sorry I’ve been weird these past few days,” he’s standing in the middle of Dan’s room, looking nervously around before managing a moment of eye contact. “I was avoiding you because I thought you were avoiding me. I thought you were mad because of…” He trails off for a second, before huffing and shaking his head, “Uh, because. You know. I didn’t know you were sick.”

Dan frowns before remembering his stupid half-assed lie from the kitchen. “Oh. Phil, it’s-”

“Anyway,” Phil cuts him off. “I’m really sorry. It was shitty of me to hide from you, and I don’t want things to be weird. So I brought you some stuff.” He shrugs his backpack off of his shoulders and clutches it in his hands as he looks at Dan hesitantly. Almost like he’s asking for permission.

Dan should say something. Clarify so that Phil doesn’t keep feeling bad. But he can’t find the words for that right now, so he nods.

Phil sighs, sounding relieved. Dan watches closely as he unzips his backpack and begins to dig around inside. 

“Okay, well. I didn’t know exactly what was wrong, so… I brought you some juice, and ginger ale, because you can’t really go wrong with those,” he starts. 

Dan’s so happy he could just about melt into a puddle, it doesn’t even matter what Phil’s brought him. He doesn’t need it. But of course there’s more than that, so he lets Phil continue. 

“I also got some cough drops, some ibuprofen in case you were out of it, some tissues, a can of soup, which… now that I’m thinking about it, that might’ve been impractical, but if we find a saucepan somewhere then we could heat it up on the stove downstairs, and-”

It’s Phil’s turn to get cut off when Dan steps forward and throws his arms around Phil’s neck. It’s a little awkward, Phil’s arms and backpack getting trapped in between them and Dan’s eyes brimming with tears as he tucks his head over Phil’s shoulder. He doesn’t care; Phil’s soft, breathy laugh on impact is the best sound he’s ever heard. 

“I wasn’t sick, Phil,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was avoiding you. But only because I thought you’d hate me, not the other way around.”

Phil tenses up, then quickly relaxes. Dan feels him lean forward a little bit. It makes him feel okay about the silence that follows. As long as Phil isn’t pushing him away, it’ll be fine.

Phil drops his backpack after a bit, before snaking his arms out from in between them to hug Dan back. Phil’s hugs are really just so secure. It’s such a good feeling, he’s not sure he’ll ever truly get used to it. 

“Didn’t we kind of do this exact thing when I came out to you?” Phil says eventually.

Dan snorts. They do seem to be developing a pattern, if only because they’re both so fucking awkward. “Yeah. We should try to be less stupid, maybe.”

“Just so you know,” Phil says quietly, “I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

“I _ know _I could never hate you,” he replies, almost immediately. Because he does know that. Phil and hatred just don’t work together at all. They’re like oil and water in his brain.

He feels Phil nod a little. “Good,” his voice is even softer now, closer to a whisper. He draws his arms around Dan a bit tighter. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

_ Fuck. _

This time, he barely needs to move in order to press his lips to Phil’s. This time, he just needs to pull back the tiniest bit, tilt his head, and kiss. This time, he’s sober; he knows exactly what he’s doing.

And this time, Phil doesn’t hesitate before kissing him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [reblogs](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lestered/627073480933982208) are very much appreciated ♥️
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://lestered.tumblr.com/ask)


	6. Chapter 6

“Let me guess,” Phil says quietly. “You don’t want to talk about it.”

Dan rolls his head over on the pillow so he’s facing Phil, who’s still staring straight up at the ceiling. He watches his bare chest rise and fall a couple times, eyes trailing down to where the duvet is draped loosely over his waist, and then back up. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I really don’t.”

Phil rolls his head to the side too, so they’re properly facing each other. Dan doesn’t feel scared when he sees the searching expression in Phil’s eyes. Maybe it’s because he’s on the comedown from his orgasm still, or maybe it’s just that Phil looks perfectly calm too. But he’s relaxed, regardless.

“Okay,” Phil says eventually. His arms are folded on top of the duvet, the exact same way Dan’s are. Their shoulders are pressed against each other. “You know this isn’t normal, though.”

That makes him feel less relaxed. He shifts in place, moving his gaze towards the wall behind Phil’s head instead of his eyes. “Since when do you care about being normal?”

“Dan,” Phil’s tone is bordering on pleading. “Come on. You know that’s not what I mean.”

Yeah, he does know. But he wants Phil to take the cop-out answer. 

“Are you saying it wasn’t good for you?” He asks as a means of avoiding what Phil really wants to talk about. “Because you sounded like you were enjoying yourself a lot.”

Phil laughs shortly, sounding more exasperated than fond, but he doesn’t say anything. So Dan doesn’t either, for a bit. He lies still, currently very aware of the mess of spit and sweat and cum that’s smeared over his stomach. Phil’s, too. Dan wonders if his skin feels just as tight and sticky, or maybe he doesn’t notice. He must be more used to this. 

Right, because Phil has sex with men, because he’s gay. That’s his excuse. Dan’s still trying to figure out his own. 

“Look,” Phil sighs, eventually. “If I didn’t want it, I would’ve stopped it. I’m not complaining about getting off with a fit guy, I’m just confused about the fact that it’s you.” 

Dan raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m fit?” he asks. He knows that’s not at all the point.

“Yeah,” Phil nods. His eyes briefly wander down over Dan’s chest and torso. Dan feels a strange, instinctive need to puff himself up a bit. “But that’s not important.”

_ Oh, yes it is _ , Dan thinks. It’s _ very _ important. But maybe he shouldn’t be pushing it right now. He hadn’t been expecting a direct answer, anyway, and it’s throwing him off.

That seems to be a theme lately, when it comes to Phil. Learning all these new things that he doesn’t exactly know how to process. 

He likes that, though. He likes knowing Phil in a way that no one else seems to know him. Kind of like Phil with him. It’s starting to equal out a bit.

“You’re my best friend,” Dan says. His voice comes out sounding smaller than he’d intended. Phil scoots in closer, almost unnoticeably so. 

Dan notices because he’s paying very close attention.

“You’re mine too,” Phil says.

“And I’m straight,” Dan adds. Phil raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn’t say anything back.

He’s grateful for that.

He chews thoughtfully on his lip, deciding whether or not it’s a good idea to tell Phil what he’s really thinking. He supposes it is. Only because it’s Phil. “But everything we just did felt, like. Really good.” 

Phil doesn’t respond right away.

Dan swallows nervously. “...Right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “Really good.”

_ Thank god. _

“So if it feels good for both of us, maybe we could just not make a big deal out of it?”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth, like the basis of a bad rom-com. He knows that, and he can see the doubt in Phil’s eyes. Doubt, apprehension, confusion… and he feels it too. But he needs to get away from that because there’s no use in feeling that way. Or any way, really. He’ll make a deal with himself: if Phil can put it out of his mind, then so can he. 

He rolls over onto his side. Phil does the same, the tips of their knees and elbows knocking together.

“You wanna not make a big deal out of it?” Phil asks. His voice is dripping with valid skepticism. 

“Yeah,” Dan whispers. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he bites his lip, moves in closer and presses his hand to Phil’s chest, dragging his fingers down lightly. “I think we’ll have more fun that way.”

He’s not proud of this particular strategy of his, but it happens to work the way he’d hoped. Phil’s breath hitches. Dan’s pretty sure he’s not imagining that. 

Silence hangs heavy in between them for what feels like an eternity and in the back of his mind, he thinks he should be worried about Phil’s obvious hesitation, but he isn’t. Even though the ball is in Phil’s court, he’s got a feeling that he’s the one in control. It probably has something to do with the way Phil’s looking at him. 

“Okay,” Phil whispers, finally. His voice cracks a little, eyes flickering down to Dan’s mouth again. 

That gives him a rush. It makes him feel powerful in a way that’s really, really hot. So he does the only thing that makes sense. 

Leans in and kisses Phil again.

*

_ Dan’s never been in such a smoky room before. _

_ He doesn’t like the smell. But weed smoke is better than cigarettes, at least. It’s a weird, earthy, skunky sort of scent, but it doesn’t make him gag the way tobacco does. _

_ He’s also getting contact high. That’s a plus. _

_ “Don’t be such a pussy, Dan,” Tommy’s holding the joint out to him, the one he’s already refused a handful of times. Not because he doesn’t want to try, necessarily. It’s more about being so wasted he’s already seeing double. He wouldn’t know which Tommy to reach out and take the joint from if he tried. He’s also seen enough to know that if he smokes, he’ll cough. And he doesn’t trust that a cough wouldn’t turn into him sicking all over the hottest guy he’s ever gotten to be friends with. _

_ Literally hot, yes. But also metaphorically. Tommy’s popular, he’s rich. Every guy in their year wants to be him. He throws parties every weekend where there’s booze and drugs and girls. _

_ Girls are the most important part for the touch-starved idiots at their all-boys school. _

_ “Come _ on,” _ Tommy rolls his eyes and scoots closer after Dan musters up the energy to shake his head and slur some sort of polite refusal. “You don’t even have to do any work. Here.” _

_ They’re sat in the corner of the room, the tips of their knees touching when Tommy reaches out for him. Things seem like they’re moving in slow motion. His hand slides over Dan’s cheek, then cups his jaw. Dan’s vision turns crystal clear for a second. Just in time to see Tommy’s eyes flicker down to his mouth. That sends his blood rushing until he realises why. _

_ He’s holding the joint between two fingers, resting it against Dan’s lips. Dan parts them slightly on instinct. _

_ “There you go,” Tommy laughs a little. “Now just suck.” _

_ For some bizarre reason, he can’t resist that. Not even for a second. He breathes in, deep and fast and barely even processes the burning sensation in his throat before he pulls back, coughing so hard he thinks he might actually hack up a lung. Tommy bursts out laughing. _

_ He’s still laughing by the time Dan regains his breathing. _

_ “Sorry, mate. Amateur mistake,” he moves in again to hold Dan’s face in one hand and the joint up to his lips with another. “Try again. Slow.” _

_ So he does. It still burns, and he still coughs on the exhale, but it’s a lot less violent. _

_ “What a lad,” Tommy pats his cheek twice, playfully, before shifting back and taking a hit himself. He inhales, holds it a bit, then closes his eyes as he breathes out nice and slow. He makes it look so easy. _

_ Dan does _ not _ like the way he feels looking at him. _

_ It’s not bad, but it’s definitely something he thinks he shouldn’t be feeling. Not about Tommy. He looks away, searching around the floor and locating the nearest plastic cup. He’s pretty sure it’s not his drink, but it’s just sitting there, so he picks it up and sniffs it. It’s definitely alcoholic, that’s what matters. _

_ He downs it in one go, then decides it’s not enough. So he stands up quickly, with the intention of wobbling his way over to the drink table. _

_ And then everything goes black. _

_ He wakes up with his cheek pressed against cold porcelain, slumped in what’s probably the most uncomfortable position he could possibly be in. _

_ “Ow,” he mumbles as a general grievance. His voice echoes a little. _

_ “Welcome back,” a female voice startles him into actually opening his eyes. He’s in a bathroom he doesn’t recognize, with a girl he doesn’t recognize. He’s gripping the toilet so hard that his knuckles have gone white and she’s sat on the floor, leant back against the wall with her legs crossed out in front of her. He blinks at her a couple times until she shifts into focus, just to be sure he doesn’t know who she is. _

_ No, he definitely doesn’t. But she looks uncannily familiar and… well, they’re alone in a bathroom together. They must have met outside at some point. She stares calmly back at him, head tilted to the side until he finally remembers that he can, in fact, speak. _

_ “Do I know you?” _

_ She looks a little amused as she shakes her head. “Nope, you know my brother. But he was too drunk to take you up the stairs, so he called me down. I was trying to revise.” _

_ He sways involuntarily while processing that bit of information. “You’re Tommy’s sister?” _

_ She hums. “Twin, actually.” She sits up on her knees, then, reaching for something by the sink and then handing it over to him. It’s a glass of water. _

_ “Drink,” she nods toward the glass. “You need it. You were really sick.” _

_ He’s suddenly very aware of the taste of his own mouth. It’s bad. He breathes in through his nose and takes a small sip, making sure it settles okay in his stomach before taking a larger one. _

_ “Oh, fuck,” he says after another minute. “I wasn’t sick on you, was I?” _

_ She laughs. It’s a nice laugh, kind of cute. “You got most of it in the toilet, actually. Pretty impressive. But, um,” her eyes wander down to his chest. For a second he thinks she’s checking him out, until she finishes her sentence. “You’re gonna need to change your shirt.” _

_ Oh good, he thinks as he looks down at himself and sees exactly what she means. He didn’t sick all over the pretty girl, he just sicked all over himself in front of her. God, he sucks. _

_ “I’ll grab you one of Tommy’s to borrow,” she says. He looks up to see her standing by the door and shakes his head, moving to his knees to stand up. _

_ “I should really just go home,” he mumbles. He feels pathetic and disgusting and he’d like to just crawl into the shame-cave that is his bed and never return. “Thanks for the water and everything, but-” _

_ She scoffs, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Are you stupid?” _

_ He looks at her in surprise. He ought to just say yes, because he is, and get the fuck out. But the expression on her face tells him that’s not gonna fly. _

_ “You’re in no state to walk home,” she says a bit more gently. “And no one here is sober enough to drive you. Except me. And I’m not gonna do that, so,” she walks over and closes the lid of the toilet, “Sit.” _

_ He sits down obediently. He doesn’t know what else to do. _

_ “Okay,” he sighs. He clumsily tugs his shirt off, discarding it on the floor before dropping his head into his hands. “Uh, thanks. I’m Dan, by the way.” _

_ He lifts his head to see her looking at him curiously, one hand on the doorknob behind her. She smiles a bit. _

_ “Nice to meet you, Dan. I’m Eva.”_

*

“What are you gonna do today?” Dan asks. Phil’s eyes are still closed, but Dan’s pretty sure he’s awake anyway. His breathing doesn’t seem steady enough for him to be asleep.

He’s right. Phil blinks his eyes open, squinting against the morning light. 

“Dunno,” Phil mumbles. His face is turned toward Dan, their noses almost brushing because the bed is only so big. “What’re you gonna do?”

Dan yawns a little. “I was gonna follow you to whatever you were doing.”

Phil holds his gaze silently before Dan snorts and lets his eyes fall shut. “Do you think Ruby was right and we’re like, really codependent without realising it?” 

“You didn’t realise it?” Phil asks. He sounds amused.

_ Wait, what? _

Dan furrows his brow before opening his eyes again. Because if Phil’s being genuine right now, that’s worrying. 

Luckily, Phil rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding. I like hanging out with you, I don’t see what’s codependent about that.”

Dan exhales in relief and nods. They’ve both done a nice job so far of not mentioning that they’re still naked and messed up from last night. That’s a good thing. Round two had been incredibly satisfying, but it had also taken so much more out of him than the first. He’s still exhausted. He really just doesn’t have the energy to think at the moment. 

Honestly, it’s a pretty good feeling. He wouldn’t mind having it more often. 

“I should shower, actually,” Phil says after a bit. He stretches out on his belly like a cat before reaching over the side of the bed. “And then I told my mum that I’d call her, because…” he pauses. Dan watches as he locates his boxers on the floor, turns over onto his back to tug them on beneath the duvet, and then stands up. 

He raises an eyebrow at him. “Because…?” He prompts, since Phil hasn’t finished his sentence. 

Phil combs his fingers through his fringe. “Because, I. Um,” he bends down, seemingly taking his time to gather the rest of his clothes up off the floor. “I… have some opinions about the latest episode of EastEnders.”

Dan stays silent for a couple seconds, before smirking and opening his mouth. Phil straightens up to button his jeans just in time, catching Dan’s expression and pointing a reproachful finger at him. “Don’t.”

So he shuts his mouth, holding his hands up in surrender. But that’s not going to be the end of this discussion, he’s quite sure of that.

“You should come over later, though,” Phil says, tugging his shirt on over his head. “It’s _ pathetic _that we didn’t even get halfway through Bubble Bobble, we have to change that.”

Dan nods and watches Phil fix his hair again, a little more carefully this time. He’s only going across the hall and then straight to the shower, but Dan understands - and honestly, appreciates - his discretion.

“See you then?” Phil asks, his hand on the doorknob now. Dan just gives him a nod, and smiles genuinely as Phil walks out.

He settles down in bed again and falls back asleep within seconds.

*

“Eva, you know you don’t actually have to go out if you don’t want to. You’re not in sixth form, no one’s gonna call you a loser if you stay in.” 

She’s quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, which is unusual. He’s actually about to check and see if the call’s dropped when she speaks. “Who says I don’t want to go out?” 

“Um, you?” He laughs a little. “Like, every time you’ve called me from a house party you’ve talked about how you don’t wanna be there.”

“I like getting drunk,” she offers. 

“You don’t need a party to do that. Buy a whole bunch of booze and drink it alone in your room, you’re an adult.”

“Fuck, you’re sad.” 

He barks out a laugh of surprise. “Wow, tell me how you really feel.”

She’s laughing on her end, too, which makes him smile. He’s always liked hearing her laugh. “Sorry,” she says when she catches her breath. 

She shouldn’t be. He likes this kind of conversation, the type of easy back-and-forth that reminds him they were friends first, dysfunctional lovers second. The underlying current of guilt that sours most of their talks for him is staying pretty in check. He’s glad to have answered her call tonight. 

“Nah, don’t be,” he says. “You’re funny. I forgot about that.”

“Oi.”

There’s another silence, a comfortable one, so Dan takes a moment to stretch his body out. He’s laid on top of the sheets. After having showered earlier, he’d gotten the sense that they probably need a wash before he actually sleeps in them again. He can’t be bothered with that tonight. This is fine for now. 

“Actually,” she says. Her voice has gone quieter. “I’m not going to get drunk. There’s… someone I’m hoping to see.”

Dan sits bolt upright. “Really?” He tries to keep his tone as neutral as possible, but that’s a very interesting development. “That’s great! You mean… romantically, right? That’s cool.”

“It is?” She sounds relieved. 

“Of course,” Dan shifts back to lean against the wall. “I’m happy for you. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She laughs. It sounds a bit hesitant, a bit nervous. “Is that an actual question you want me to answer?”

_Well…_ _no, not really, _he thinks. He was asking her rhetorically. Him being happy for her is a given, isn’t it? He furrows his eyebrows in curiosity. “Um. Yeah, I guess?”

“Oh,” she says. He almost misses it, she’s speaking so softly. “Well, it’s nothing, really. You’re just a bit… possessive, Dan.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that, but he doesn’t like the sound of that word. It makes him feel like he’s just been doused in ice water. He sits quietly with it for a bit. “You mean jealous?” he says slowly, after a bit. “Because I know I’m jealous.”

She hums. “I suppose.” She still sounds unsure. “I guess I always thought it went a bit deeper than that. Remember last summer, when my ex showed up at Tommy’s birthday party, and you-”

“Yeah,” he cuts her off. “Yeah, yeah. I was drunk, it was stupid, I-”

“You don’t have to explain it, Dan.” She says. “I know. We talked about it. And… I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to say something bad about you, I just…” she trails off. He waits. 

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “This breakup was fucking complicated for me, okay? There’s, like, a fuck ton of stuff I don’t understand. I’ve had a lot of really hard feelings to work out.”

Dan closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “I know,” he says softly. “I know, and I’m sorry. I really want you to be happy, Eva. There’s someone out there who’s way better suited to you than I was.”

“Hey,” she says. He can hear the smile in her voice, that makes him feel a bit better. “You’re alright sometimes.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “You too. Good luck tonight.”

She breathes in deeply. “Thanks, Dan.”

*

“Level 51,” Phil huffs. “I’m not impressed with us.”

“Well,” Dan sets his controller down. “Were you expecting a lot out of yourself when you’ve been shoveling vodka gummies into your mouth all night?”

Speaking of that, he reaches into the bowl that’s sitting between them on the bed, picking out a few cola bottles and popping them into his own mouth. “Also, I can’t believe you made these.”

“I know,” Phil reaches into the bowl, having abandoned his controller as well. “They’re good, right? I didn’t actually think they would be, but I knew I wasn’t gonna stop thinking about them after Martyn told me to try.”

He chews slowly on his sweets and watches as Phil does too, definitely not taking an interest in his throat when he swallows. He takes a few more for himself in lieu of thinking about that. 

“Do you think I’m possessive?” He asks after swallowing.

Phil pauses his chewing to cast him a strange look. “What?”

He slumps his shoulders a bit. “My ex thinks I’m possessive. Or was possessive. I don’t know what her current stance is, actually, but she was surprised when I was happy for her seeing someone new.”

Phil tilts his head, seeming to think it over for a moment. “Well… _ were _you happy for her?”

“Oh my fucking god,” Dan groans. “Not you, too.”

“It’s just a question, Dan.” Phil scoots forward a bit. “Even if you were faking being happy, that still means you wanted to be supportive, right?”

“But I wasn’t faking it,” Dan insists. “That’s the thing. I _ am _happy for her. I’ve been fucking drowning in guilt since we broke up, knowing how shitty I was to her. You have no idea, Phil, how much I led her on, and how hard she tried with me, and I still ended up dumping her like the asshole I am, and-”

He stops when Phil’s hand comes to rest on his knee. He doesn’t have to say anything, Dan can just tell from the look on his face that talking badly about himself isn’t going to get them anywhere. But at the same time, he has a lot of bad things to say about himself and it’s getting tiring to keep them all inside. 

“I want her to be happy with someone else,” he says in a calmer tone. “Genuinely, I do. She’s a really good person. She deserves a good guy.”

Phil takes his hand off of Dan’s knee, but shifts around so they’re sitting side-by-side at the head of the bed. “Does that mean you’re not a good guy?”

Dan sort of wants to laugh at the absurdity of the question, but all he manages is a scoff. “Fuck no. ‘Course I’m not.”

“That’s kind of a sad thing to say about yourself.”

He actually does laugh at that, then flop down so he’s laying with his head on Phil’s pillow. “Thanks. You’re the second person who’s called me sad today.”

“I’m not calling you sad,” Phil lies down next to him. He instantly feels a little more comfortable. “I just wish you’d be nicer to yourself. See what everyone else sees.”

That’s the last thing he wants. He’ll explain that to Phil some other time, though. He rolls his head over to the side, just to see Phil already looking back at him. He moves in closer. He’s pretty sure Phil does, too.

“What are you thinking about now?” Phil asks quietly. He’s searching Dan’s expression, but his own is pretty unreadable. Dan hesitates, just a little.

“You actually wanna know?”

Phil looks confused, but nods.

Dan looks him over again. “I’m thinking about that thing you did with your tongue last night.”

Phil’s mouth falls open in surprise. Dan can’t help but laugh at that as Phil turns his head to look up at the ceiling instead, laughing with flushed cheeks. 

“Oh,” he says when they’ve caught their breath. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”

Phil doesn’t seem upset that he said it, though. That’s a good sign.

“You have to be more specific, too,” he adds, looking at Dan again. “Pretty sure I used my tongue for multiple things last night.”

That’s an even better sign. 

“I’ll show you,” he keeps his tone deliberately casual as he sits up, hitches one leg over Phil’s waist and sits straddling his hips. Phil looks up at him in surprise.

Pleasant surprise. Definitely pleasant.

“This feels really good, remember?” Dan asks quietly. 

Phil clears his throat a bit. “Yeah,” he whispers back. “It feels good.” 

“So it’s not a big deal.” Dan says. Phil sits up slowly, his gaze wandering towards Dan’s mouth as he does. 

“Sure,” he breathes. Dan feels his breath against his lips when he does, and smirks, resting his hands on Phil’s shoulders. 

Then he pushes him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!
> 
> [reblogs](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lestered/627706159642640385) are highly appreciated ❤️
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://lestered.tumblr.com/ask)


	7. Chapter 7

“So close,” Dan pants. His heart is racing, sweat beading on his forehead. One hand is bunched in the front of Phil’s shirt, the other grabbing onto his shoulder in an attempt to stay balanced, and his head is tossed back in an attempt to expose as much of his neck as possible for Phil to suck and lick and bite. He whines as Phil’s tongue massages firmly over a particularly sensitive spot, and the hand that’s jerking him off speeds up a little. “Fuck, do that again. Please.”

Phil complies right away and it feels so, so fucking good. It’s not long before he’s gasping and cumming over his fist. He exhales shakily as Phil strokes him through the end of it, before collapsing back on the bed with a breathless giggle. 

“Fucking hell,” he says. “Yeah, so, for future reference, that’s what I mean by ‘that thing with your tongue.’” He lifts his head up and opens his eyes. “Also, lube is so much better than spit, you were right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Phil laughs weakly as he maneuvers his way out from under Dan’s legs. Dan watches him while he basks in his own afterglow, warmth tingling all the way down to the tips of his toes. 

Phil’s pyjama bottoms are on the floor, but he’s still got his t-shirt and boxers on. From the way they’re tented, he’s obviously hard, which is pretty hot when Dan thinks about himself being the reason behind that. He pulls his own shirt off, using it to wipe off his stomach before passing it to Phil, who wipes his hand on it and tosses it onto the floor. 

It’s his red shirt, _ Cold Beer & Hot Women _printed in white on the front. He’s not so stupid that he doesn’t recognize the magnitude of the irony in that.

“Are you okay finishing the same way as last time?” He asks Phil. 

Phil nods and tugs his own shirt off. “Yeah,” he moves to lay down beside Dan. “Sure.”

Dan hums his thanks and lets his eyes slip shut again. He listens closely though, as Phil pushes his boxers down and uncaps the lube bottle again. There’s a pause, and then a breathy moan and the squelchy sound of lube on skin on skin.

Based on the speed his hand sounds like it’s going and his quick, gasping breaths, he probably isn’t gonna need long to bring himself off.

He doesn’t. Pretty quickly he feels Phil tense up next to him, hears him shudder and looks over just in time to see him cum all over his hand and stomach. His eyes stay closed as he lets his arm go limp, drawing in a few deep breaths before fluttering his eyes open. If he’s surprised to see Dan watching him, he doesn’t show it. He just kicks his pants the rest of the way off, cleans himself up hastily and chucks them onto the floor next to Dan’s shirt.

Dan stares at them for a minute.

“So,” Phil sighs. “What do you wanna do now?”

Dan purses his lips in thought, gazing up at the ceiling and then flickering his eyes over to Phil. He’s flushed and a little sweaty but mostly he just looks… relaxed.

Genuinely relaxed. It’s a really good look on him, he realises as Phil looks right back.

“Um,” he whispers. His mind goes blank for just a brief moment when they lock eyes. He shakes his head a little to come out of it, then smirks. “Wanna tell me your opinions on the latest episode of EastEnders?”

He bursts out laughing as one of Phil’s pillows hits him in the face. 

*

“I actually think it’s nice that you watch something with your mum,” Dan says a bit later. “I didn’t think you’d be a soap opera guy but I guess you’re full of surprises.”

“Okay, I’m not a soap opera guy,” Phil corrects him. “But my mum loves them. And it’s better than I thought it’d be, actually.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, mate.”

This time, he’s prepared for the pillow to the face.

“You must’ve had something like that,” Phil says as he lifts the pillow back up and plops it in its rightful place. He’s on his side, propped up on his elbow and looking at Dan curiously. “Something you did with someone even if you didn’t like it that much, just so you could spend time together.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Are you kidding me? I’m pretty sure my parents went out of their way to avoid me.”

_I’m sure that’s not true _is the refute he expects from Phil. That’s the refute he generally gets about… pretty much everything. But that’s not what he gets. 

“Doesn’t have to be your parents,” is what Phil actually says. “Could be anyone you care about.”

Dan glances over at him, then sighs and looks back up at the ceiling. He feels a slight chill in the air, too and tugs the duvet up a little further. 

“I went to church with my grandma when I was a kid,” he says eventually. “Just me and her. I liked it when I was really little, then I didn’t like it so much. I didn’t understand the whole God thing, but I’d go because it made her happy. Then I got older and started skipping out some weeks, and then… I just stopped going altogether.” He looks at Phil again, matter-of-factly. “Disappointing people is kind of my thing.”

Phil hums and settles down, hugging a pillow to his cheek as he looks back at Dan. “You need to stop doing that, you know.”

Dan looks at him warily. “Stop doing what?”

“Defining yourself by your mistakes,” Phil says. “Or by the things you regret. There’s more to you than that.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

Phil frowns. “Dan-”

Nope. Too serious, too fast. He sits up. “I’ve got an idea. How about instead of talking about feelings and getting sad, we make each other cum again?”

Phil’s eyes widen and he sputters for a moment before closing his mouth and breathing in deeply. He looks indignant, temporarily, like he knows it’s a diversion tactic and he’s annoyed at it for working. Then he resigns. “You know, the shock value of you saying this stuff is gonna wear off eventually.”

His tone and his expression are both the slightest bit challenging. 

Dan mirrors him. “But it hasn’t yet, has it?”

Phil narrows his eyes, stares him down for a moment and then huffs out a defeated sigh. “No,” he says, grabbing Dan by his elbow and tugging him back down to the bed. “It hasn’t.”

*

Phil gets tenser as the days go by, November fading into December with winter break not far off. They’ve got finals to get through first, though. That’s what Phil’s tense about, if Dan had to make an educated guess. He’s drinking four cups of coffee a day instead of his usual three, his leg seems to be in a permanent state of restless bouncing, and he’s almost always hunched over his computer typing away, or scribbling things in the margins of his books.

Even the times Dan coaxes him into bed for some stress relief, it seems to be only a temporary reprieve. 

His breath hitches as he cums, head pressed back against his pillow and legs wrapped around Phil’s waist. Phil slows his hips down and stops sucking on Dan’s neck. 

“That was… kinda quick,” he murmurs in slight amusement, then shrugs and rolls off onto his back.

“Hey-” Dan starts, but Phil waves him off. He’s already got his hand on his dick, stroking himself with purpose.

“No, that’s good. I have my first final tomorrow, I need to get back to studying.”

Dan reaches out and catches Phil’s wrist in his hand without really thinking. Phil makes a small, pained noise and looks over at him.

“Sorry,” he says. “But like, don’t you ever give yourself a break?”

“This was a break,” Phil says, like it’s obvious. “Didn’t you have fun? You sounded like you were having fun.”

“Not really the point,” Dan says. “I mean, yeah, I did. But you should get to enjoy it too, you know.”

“I am.”

Dan tilts his head to the side until Phil sighs. “Fine, I’m not. It’s nothing to do with you, though.”

Dan looks down at where he’s still holding Phil’s wrist to keep his hand still. It’s, to say the least, a strange position to be in. 

“Maybe it’d be a little better,” he says thoughtfully, lifting Phil’s hand and placing it down by his side. “If you weren’t being so utilitarian about it.”

Phil’s eyes are wide when he looks at him, lips parted slightly and he’s still laid out on his back. There’s something about him in this position that’s hot, though Dan can’t quite put his finger on it. 

“What do you mean by that?” Phil asks quietly. Dan’s eyes travel quickly down his body. Then he shifts over to sit in between Phil’s legs, smoothing his hands up over his thighs and hips.

“I mean… I haven’t really been pulling my weight with this whole setup we have going on, and I think it’s time I fixed that. You know?”

Realization dawns in Phil’s expression once Dan pours some lube into his hand, warming it up between his palms.

“Oh. Okay,” Phil whispers. His eyes are bright, voice is a little shaky. “Yeah. Sure.”

That’s all the permission Dan needs to get to work. But first, he leans down and catches Phil’s lips in a heated kiss.

*

_ He doesn’t know what he’s doing here alone. _

_ The church is dark and quiet. It’s all just the same as he remembers. The arched ceiling and exposed beams, the green-carpeted altar, the cross. The Hymnals and Books of Common Prayer stacked meticulously at the ends of each pew, the advent wreath hung up front. It must be close to Christmas. He notices, walking down the aisle, there’s even that weird notch in the floor halfway down that he always used to trip over. He steps over it carefully. _

_ He doesn’t like that there are no lights on and no candles lit. Eighteen years old and he’s still terrified of the dark. Everything is spookier when it’s lit only by pale slivers of moonlight. That’s when he realises he’s cold. Freezing, actually. There’s a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach, too. He turns quickly to look behind him. There’s no one there. He turns back again. There’s no one in front of him, either. _

_ He still can’t shake the sense that something horrible is about to happen. _

_ He just knows he can’t keep standing still. _

_ He paces forward quickly, towards the altar and stops at the communion rail. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to bow before the cross right now, but… _

_ No, what the fuck? He shakes his head to himself and steps up on the altar without bowing. There’s no one here to judge him for it and God isn’t real. _

_ The cross is mounted on the very back wall. It’s a simple design—just the cross, none of the bloody crucifixion scene that’s there for guilt’s sake only, as far as he knows. It’s big and silver and he runs his finger gently over the cool metal. He has a brief memory of being young, so young that his feet couldn’t even touch the ground when he sat in the pew, and watching the priest as he stood right in front of it. Wondering what would happen if the cross were to fall away from the wall. Wondering if the priest would be crushed to death, or if he’d be saved by an act of God. Part of him had wanted the cross to fall down, in a sick dark way that he’d never admit, just to see if a miracle would happen. He’d wanted to see a miracle happen, because he’d wanted to believe they could. It had always been hard for him to believe in anything he couldn’t see. _

_ Still is. _

_ Maybe that’s why the dark scares him so much, because he can’t see. He can’t prove to himself that there’s nothing hiding in the shadows. _

_ There’s that dreadful feeling again. He hurries away from the altar as fast as he can. _

_ Then he’s by the back door. He stares at it for a bit and then leans forward, pushing it open without much thought and stepping outside. It’s not any colder outside the church than inside, but he’s up to his ankles in snow. Snow that’s still flurrying down in soft flakes. _

_ One lands on the tip of his nose. Oddly, he doesn’t feel it melt. _

_ He shuffles forward even though part of him doesn’t want to. All he can see in the distance are gravestones. He knew the graveyard was right outside the door. Why did he open the door when he knew the graveyard was right there? _

_ He takes a deep breath and keeps walking. _

_ He’s never walked in this graveyard before, so he doesn’t know where it ends. He pauses and kneels down, brushing the snow off of the headstone right in front of him. _

_ It’s blank. That’s weird. _

_ He checks the next one, then the next one. Then the one behind him, and the one behind that. They’re all blank. _

_ It doesn’t bother him as much as he feels like it should. What does your name matter when you’re dead, anyway? _

_ Somewhere close, there’s a rustling noise. He stands right up, whipping his head around in search of the source. There’s nothing. He takes a few steps back. And then a few more. He starts to run when the dread comes back, washing over him harder than before. _

_ It really doesn’t sound like anyone’s chasing after him, but something isn’t right. He bursts through the back door of the church and then slams it behind him, fumbling for the lock. He leans back against it once that’s done, breaths coming in fast and heavy. _

_ And then there’s a knock. _

_ He jumps away from the door like he’s just been burned, just in time to see it rattle as the knock comes again. Louder. And then again, even louder. And again. And again, until it’s a constant rapping and the door shakes with each knock. _

_ He does the only thing he can think of doing. He rushes down the center aisle and into the back pew, dropping down onto his knees and clasping his hands together. The wind picks up outside, rattling the stained glass windows and the knocking doesn’t stop. If anything’s it’s louder and more insistent. He feels so stupid as he closes his eyes, because he’s not someone who prays. He hasn’t prayed for ages, and there’s only one prayer he knows. _

_ One is better than none. _

_ “Our Fa-” he starts, but the words die in his throat. He stops, shakes his head and tries again. _

_ No sound other than a rasp that quickly dies out. He breathes and tries again and again, but something’s wrong with him. He’s shaking, in a cold sweat and he can’t speak. The whole church feels like it’s moving with the force of whatever’s knocking at the door. He won’t be able to scream for help if it gets in. He can’t even fucking pray. _

_ This is it, then. He tries to cry, but that yields nothing either. No sobs, no tears. Just hyperventilating and getting more and more dizzy. _

_ “Dan,” he hears a voice calling his name. It sounds like it’s calling from very far away. _

_ “Dan,” it repeats. “Hey, Dan.” _

_ The thing is still knocking. The church is still shaking. Why isn’t the voice coming to help him? Why is he still all alone? _

_ “Dan,” the voice sounds closer now, but there’s no one around. “Dan, hey… wake up. I think you’re having a nightmare. Wake up. Dan, wake up!”_

He opens his eyes with a gasp, sitting up so quick that a sharp pain shoots right up into his head and he falls back on the pillow right away. The sheet underneath him feels damp all along his back. Then he finally regains enough of his senses to realise Phil’s hands are on his shoulders, keeping him gently pinned down to the bed and Phil’s hovering above him looking like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. 

He knows right away that it’s his fault. 

“I’m okay,” he whispers. His throat feels dry. Phil doesn’t look convinced but he rolls off to the side, still keeping one of his hands on Dan like he’s afraid he’ll fly off the handle if he lets go.

“You fucking scared me,” Phil says after a quiet moment. He moves his hand to gently brush over Dan’s cheek and it’s only then that he realises there’s tear tracks running down his face. 

He closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. “I’m really sorry,” he sighs.

“Don’t be,” Phil says right away. “It’s not your fault, I’m just glad you’re awake. You were thrashing around and crying and you kept sounding like you were trying to scream, it was fucking…” Phil trails off. “Never mind. It’s over, that’s all that matters, right?”

It’s over. He knows that as he feels the cold dread slowly seep out of his body and the trembling that feels like it’s all the way down in his bones dies down. He goes with his first instinct after that, which is to roll over into Phil’s side and cling to him like a lifeboat, because that’s what he feels like. Phil’s arms wrap right back around him and hold him tight.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he says quietly. His head is resting on Phil’s chest; he can hear his heart still pounding. “I’m sorry I freaked you out.”

“Dan, seriously,” Phil attempts a lighthearted chuckle. “Stop apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He can’t argue with that at the moment. Or, he just doesn’t want to. He just wants to feel grounded.

“Hey, um,” Phil says after they’ve been laying there for some time, his hands smoothing gentle circles into Dan’s back. “What time is it?”

Oh, right. It’s actually morning, he realises as he glances at the light filtering through his blinds and casting shadows on the floor. That annoys him for some reason. Fucking… time. Sometimes he hates when it passes.

He shoves his hand under his pillow and feels around for his phone. 

“Um… 9:47,” he reads off the screen.

It’s quiet for a moment. And then,

“Shit.”

Phil retracts his arms and quickly clambers over Dan to get out of bed, muttering to himself as he lands ungracefully on the floor and starts frantically pulling his clothes on. 

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, my exam starts at 10.”

Dan watches stupidly from the bed as Phil searches for his flannel, eventually locating it on the back of Dan’s desk chair. 

“I can’t believe we fell asleep. And I didn’t finish studying. Fucking hell, I’m…”

Phil seems to stop himself midway through tugging his hands through his hair. He glances over at Dan. 

“I mean,” he clears his throat and grabs his backpack up off the floor. “I’m fine. I’ve just gotta go. Now. Um, see you later.”

“Good luck,” Dan calls weakly in lieu of the apology he definitely owes. Although, it doesn’t matter much at the moment.

Phil’s already out the door.

*

He tugs on a shirt and some sweatpants and goes down to the kitchen because he doesn’t want to go back to sleep, especially alone. His mind feels fuzzy again as he walks along the fluorescent-lit halls, like his brain hasn’t fully adjusted to being awake yet. He rubs his eyes and blinks hard a few times in an attempt to clear his vision, which only kind of works.

By the time he gets to the kitchen, he’s forgotten what he even wanted from here, or if he even wanted anything in the first place. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just wanted to be out of his room. Yes, that’s it. He wanted to be out of his room. He walks over to the sink and turns on the tap, bending down and splashing some cold water on his face. That helps bring him out of the fog a bit. He straightens up and pats himself dry with the bottom of his t-shirt. 

He doesn’t keep a lot of his food in the kitchen because he doesn’t cook, really. Not since that one disastrous attempt at spaghetti. Not that it matters, he’s not even hungry at the minute. He’s not in the mood for coffee, either. He stands dumbly in the middle of the room for a bit before sighing and opening the cupboard, grabbing the Pokemon mug that he recognises as Phil’s and filling it with water. 

Good enough. He turns and walks back to his room. 

*

After he’s finished his mug of water, he goes for a walk. He doesn’t bother with a jacket or his phone, which is stupid of him, but he just wants to feel the cold and not talk to anybody. The air is chilly and the sky is cloudy and grey. He vaguely remembers hearing that it was supposed to snow today, or this weekend, or something like that. He hopes it does. Phil loves the snow.

_ Oh god, _ he thinks, closing his eyes for a moment, _ Phil. _

His brain doesn’t elaborate on that. It’s just _ oh god, Phil. _He doesn’t know what he means by it.

Whatever.

He doesn’t know how long he’s out for. Can’t be very long. When he gets back inside, Starbucks bag in hand, his cheeks and arms are bordering on frostbitten, but that’s alright. The warmth of the indoors feels nice on his skin. He knows he needs to see Phil, but first he needs to lie down a bit. The idea of getting back in bed doesn’t feel too scary anymore. 

However, someone’s already laying in his bed when he opens the door.

“Uh, Phil?” he guesses.

Phil’s head pokes out from under the duvet. 

“Oh, hey,” he sounds groggy, “you’re back.”

Dan nods. “So’re you.”

He kicks his shoes off and heads over to the bed, slipping in beside Phil and handing him the Starbucks bag. “Here, I got you something.”

“Really?” Phil takes the bag and sits up. His jeans and flannel are crumpled on the floor beside the bed, but he’s still got his t-shirt on. “Why?”

“Last time I was having a bad day, you got me a muffin,” he explains with what he hopes is a nonchalant shrug. “I figured, your day kind of got off to a bad start, and it was kind of my fault, so… muffin.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Phil says softly. His eyes light up a bit when he pulls the muffin out of the bag, though. It’s double-chocolate, one of his favourites. “All you did was give me a handjob that was so good I forgot to set an alarm,” he adds after taking a bite. 

Dan laughs a bit and rolls his eyes. “Right.” He watches Phil for a bit, just enjoying his muffin, before he decides to ask. “How’d the exam go, anyway?”

“You know, it actually wasn’t that bad,” Phil says. There’s a crumb of chocolate on his bottom lip that Dan brushes off without really thinking. “Oh, thanks. But, yeah, there were a few things I definitely didn’t know. But most of it was the stuff that I studied.”

“Stuff always goes better for you than you think it will,” Dan says with a hint of amusement. “You worry too much.”

Phil cracks a bit of a smile and finishes the last bite of the muffin, crumples the empty bag into a ball and tosses it on the floor. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he says after he swallows. “Why I’ve been so stressed about finals, and all.”

Dan tilts his head thoughtfully. “Because you’re Phil Lester, professional ball of anxiety who hasn’t relaxed since your parents gave you your first cup of coffee at age nine?”

“That does kind of explain a lot about me, huh,” Phil mumbles flatly. “But no. I mean, yes, but not just that.” 

Phil lays back down and Dan goes with him. Phil’s quiet for a bit, and Dan doesn’t rush him to speak. They’ve got time. 

“I’ve been obsessing over finals so much because I don’t want to think about what happens after them,” he says eventually. “I’m scared about going home.”

Dan looks over at him in surprise. Of everything Phil could be stressed about, he hadn’t expected going home to be one of them. Phil has friends back home, and a family he loves. It doesn’t add up.

“Really?” Dan asks. “I thought you would’ve been excited.”

Phil chews on his bottom lip before responding. “I thought I would’ve been, too,” he says. Then he turns his head towards Dan. “Remember how I told you no one from home knows I’m gay?”

Dan nods.

“Yeah,” Phil sighs, “I kind of have a huge guilt problem about that. I have ever since I realised when I was twelve. I felt so bad and ashamed that I was hiding something so big from them but I just… I had no idea how to say it. I still have no idea how to say it.”

Dan waits patiently for him to continue. 

“I never did anything gay before I came here,” he says a little more quietly. “I never kissed a guy, I even tried to be straight. That kind of made keeping the secret feel less bad, the fact that I wasn’t acting on it. It felt less like lying. I really hate lying.”

He moves closer to Phil so their shoulders are touching. “So what’s different about now?”

“I’ve done it,” Phil says a little too quickly. “All of it. All the gay shit. All semester I’ve been kissing guys and hooking up with guys and talking to guys on Grindr and it’s just… like, I can’t pretend to myself anymore or act like it isn’t happening, because it is. I’ve been living like a gay man all semester and I feel like I’m gonna go home and everyone’s gonna look at me and just _ know.” _

Dan scoots closer, still. “You know that’s not possible, right?”

“Yeah,” Phil huffs out a laugh, “but that doesn’t make me less nervous.” He closes his eyes and swallows. “I don’t want to be afraid to go home and see my family and my friends. I love them. I feel bad that I’m afraid.”

“You shouldn’t,” Dan tells him. “Feel bad, I mean. You can’t help it.”

“I’m just not ready for them to know I’m gay,” Phil says. “I feel like I'm a bad person for worrying that they might react badly but it’s just… some people are really awful about it. Someone can seem like a really nice person but then end up having all these terrible thoughts about other people’s lifestyles, and-”

“Phil,” Dan whispers. He waits for Phil to meet his gaze before he reaches out, gently cupping his cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were born this way.”

Phil nods and Dan thinks his eyes are looking a bit wet when he rolls over and Dan wraps his arms around him, holding him just the way Phil had held him this morning. “It’s right, okay?” He says. “And anyone that has a problem with it is wrong.” 

“Thanks, Dan,” Phil whispers. His voice sounds wobbly. “Can we just… stay like this for a while?”

“Yeah,” Dan holds him a little tighter. He’s all twisted up inside but he presses his lips to the top of Phil’s head, anyway. Phil matters more right now. “Yeah, we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> [reblogs](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lestered/628364202930798592) are super appreciated ❤️
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://lestered.tumblr.com/ask)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry for publishing so late in the day! i've been a little behind with writing this week, but i hope you enjoy this chapter!

Phil melts into him for once, rather than the other way around. It makes him freeze up at first, realising that he’s Phil’s comfort teddy instead of Phil being his, and he’s not sure how to act. He doesn’t want to move, because he doesn’t want Phil to think he’s trying to shift away from him. But he doesn’t want to stay frozen and have Phil thinking he’s uncomfortable. He relaxes little by little, his heartbeat slowing to a steady, even pace. Phil stays warm and pliant in his arms, hair tickling Dan’s cheek as he nuzzles closer and sighs. 

“You meant that, right?” Phil asks quietly. 

Dan’s eyelids are drooping but he hums anyway. “Meant what?”

“That stuff about how being gay is okay, and right, and anyone who has a problem with it is wrong?”

“Yeah,” Dan whispers. He feels a swell of something in his chest, thinking back on it. The words had just kind of happened, but he knows he means them. He could never think badly about anything having to do with Phil. “‘Course I did.”

Phil nods a little. “Thanks.” He pauses, then adds, “That means a lot to me.”

He slides his fingers idly through Phil’s hair, because it feels like the right thing to do. Phil tilts his head up the slightest bit and looks at him with his eyes wide and soft and sad. 

Dan kisses him. 

It’s not hot or urgent. Phil’s lips taste of chapstick and oversweetened coffee and something else he’s picked up on over time— something that’s distinctly Phil, that he can’t quite put his finger on, but he likes it. He kisses him slowly, waiting for Phil’s response and when his lips part, so willingly, Dan smiles against them.

For a long time, it’s just that: slow, sweet kisses, his arm draped securely across Phil’s back and his free hand combing lightly through his hair. Phil kisses him back just as gently. Each soft, content sigh interspersed throughout feels like its own little win. 

“Dan,” Phil whispers after what he thinks is a fairly long while. Dan’s so gone anyway that it takes a moment for him to process that Phil’s stopped kissing and started speaking instead. He flutters his eyes open.

“This is really nice and everything,” Phil says. “But I don’t think I’m really in the mood to go further, so… I should probably go.”

“What? No,” Dan frowns. His hold on Phil tightens automatically, but he quickly loosens it again when he realises what he’s doing. “I mean,” he clarifies when he sees Phil’s confused expression, “we don’t have to go further. We can keep doing just this.”

Phil settles into the embrace again, seeming to study Dan’s expression as he does.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “You’re fine with just kissing?”

He knows to tread carefully with what he says next, because he knows what Phil’s really trying to ask. What they’re doing right now is far removed enough from getting each other off just to feel good that Phil needs to be reassured they’re not crossing a boundary. Dan’s not actually sure if they are or not, but fuck it, the last thing he wants is for Phil to leave right now.

So he nods. 

“Yeah,” he keeps his tone as nonchalant as he can manage, “it’s no big deal.”

That might not be true either, but Phil presses their lips together again before he can decide.

That’s fine. He can let it go for now.

*

_ Should the court order specific performance in favour of the buyer? Explain. _

He blinks down at his exam paper a couple times, as if that’ll make the words mean anything to him. Yeah, sure, he should’ve spent last night studying. And maybe he should’ve gone to more classes, too. But he didn’t go to classes, and he spent last night making out with Phil, and now he’s failing his first final. 

Okay, no. He shakes his head a little in an attempt to clear it. He hasn’t technically failed anything yet. He can still bullshit it, that’s one of the things he does best. 

It’s gotten him this far, anyway.

He takes a deep breath and goes back to the top of the page.

_ Fact Pattern _

_ A seller owns Windacre, a parcel of land occupied by a grocery store and a parking lot. A buyer expresses interest in purchasing Windacre from the seller. The buyer and seller then tour Windacre together. After the tour, the buyer offers  _ _ £1,500,000 cash… _

His brain feels numb by the time he walks out and he doesn’t even bother with his headphones on the walk back to his hall; music wouldn’t do anything for him right now. 

“I feel like I’ve come too far in life to let Property Law be the death of me,” he announces as he steps into Phil’s room. He doesn’t stop in at his own first. Phil looks over at him. He’s in his chair, slumped over his desk with his legs tucked up underneath him in a position that can’t possibly be comfortable at all. 

“Your exam wasn’t good, then?” Phil guesses. 

“S’what I get for not studying or going to class, ever.” He flops down onto Phil’s bed. “How’s your paper?”

Phil glances back at his laptop screen. “Almost done. Two and a half more pages, and I get to finish that bag of Tangfastics.” 

So that’s what the half-finished package of sweets on the pillow is for.

“How do you do it?” He asks, picking the bag up and popping a cherry into his mouth once Phil’s turned back around. 

Phil doesn’t look away from his laptop to respond. “Do what?”

Dan thinks for a moment, staring emptily into the bag before setting it aside. 

“Hold yourself accountable for stuff,” he says. “How do you not just blow off your paper and then eat all the Tangfastics anyway? That’s what I’d do.”

Phil’s typing slows down for a bit, then stops completely. “I don’t know,” he says. He spins around in his chair to meet Dan’s eyes. “My parents raised me on reward systems, I’ve always gotten stuff done like this. It’s like, the sweets taste better when I feel like I did something to deserve them.”

Dan hums in consideration. “How do you know when you’ve done enough to deserve something, though?”

Phil seems to think on that for a moment. Then he shrugs. “I guess it’s an ingrained pattern by now? I’ve been doing it for so long.” He tilts his head a little. “Are you okay, Dan? You’re acting weird.”

“Hm? Yeah, fine.” He shrugs. Then he looks over at Phil and rolls his eyes. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Phil makes a quick and halfhearted attempt to school his concerned and slightly pitying expression into something a little less sad. “Like what?”

“Like I’m some wounded pigeon that you want to rescue from the wild and bring back to health,” he says. Phil furrows his eyebrows, and Dan shrugs. “I dunno,” he mumbles in explanation. “Sounds like something you’d do.” 

“I don’t feel bad for you, you know,” Phil says. He walks over to the bed, perching next to Dan and bumping their shoulders together. “I just care about you. I don’t like when people I care about seem upset. I’m sure you’re the same way.”

“Don’t know,” Dan reaches into the Tangfastics again, choosing a crocodile to pop into his mouth this time. “I haven’t cared about that many people in my life.”

“That’s not true,” Phil scoots a little closer. He also gently plucks the Tangfastics bag away from Dan, popping a cola bottle into his mouth before setting it down on the floor. “I know it’s not. You pretend you don’t care about stuff but you do, a lot. Sometimes too much. And that makes stuff hard for you.”

He lets those words sink in, swallowing down the lump that rises in his throat as they do.

“What makes you think that?” He asks.

“I can tell,” Phil says simply. “Just from… I don’t know. Paying attention to you.”

Dan shifts closer to him. “How many more pages did you say you have to write?”

Phil moves in, too, but he still plays dumb. “Two and a half,” he says softly, “Why?”

He places his hand on Phil’s chest and feels it rise as he breathes in sharply, then shoves him down onto the mattress. And when he climbs on top, half-hard and already undoing the buttons on Phil’s shirt, he’s pretty sure that answers the question.

*

“When’s your next exam?” Phil asks after they’ve finished their little roll-around. 

Dan wipes the sweat off his brow and sighs. “Day after tomorrow,” he says. “I think I might be even more fucked for that one than I was for this. I’m pretty sure I haven’t been to that class since the first week.”

Phil looks over at him warily. “Have you thought about actually studying for it?”

He hums noncommittally. “It’ll be shit whether I study or not. But… not studying and then doing bad is easier than studying and doing bad. Because at least if you don’t study, you can tell yourself that you could’ve done better if you tried. If you study and still bomb it, then you just have to accept that you’re a failure.”

Phil doesn’t say anything for a minute. 

“So… you set yourself up to fail as a coping mechanism?” He asks after a bit.

His tone isn’t judgmental, which Dan supposes is nice, but it makes him bristle anyway.

Because Phil’s thoughts aren’t exactly original. He’s heard this all before from his parents, his teachers, from Eva back in sixth form. He doesn’t want to add Phil to the list of people who’ve lectured him about wasting his potential. Phil’s supposed to be his friend. His happy place. So he shakes his head and sits up.

“What do you care?”

Phil seems taken aback. “Well, I mean… you said it yourself, Dan. You’re too good to let some first-year law classes get the better of you.” 

“That’s not what I said. And I don’t need you to play therapist with me,” he grumbles. He stands up out of bed, tugging his pants and t-shirt on. “Anyway, I should go.”

“Wh-... Dan, wait,” Phil sits up, too. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. There’s just…” 

Dan’s halfway through tugging his jeans on when Phil trails off. He looks up impatiently. 

“There’s just what?”

Phil’s voice softens. “There’s just stuff that I don’t get about you. That… I wanna understand.”

Dan stares at him for another moment before shaking his head and tugging his jeans on the rest of the way. “Well, don’t,” he says. “It’s not that deep. And even if it was, it’s not worth thinking about. Anyway,” he buttons and zips himself up, “don’t let me keep distracting you from your functional-person business.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Phil asks. “Fuck, I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”

He purposely doesn’t look at Phil again before grabbing his stuff and walking out. 

*

The annoying thing is that he knows Phil’s in the right, and he’s in the wrong. Even though Phil’s grossly overestimating his potential, that doesn’t change the fact that he was just trying to be a good friend, and Dan doesn’t know how to react to that kind of thing besides simply shutting it down. He owes him an apology.

He just doesn’t have the words. 

So he does the next best thing he can to ease his conscience, and opens up his lecture slides. 

_ Nature of a crime _

_ Crime is defined as an act that the law makes punishable; the breach of a legal duty treated as the subject matter of a criminal proceeding… _

Time moves fast once he gets into the swing of it, and guilt turns to spite. Setting himself up for failure, his ass. If that’s what Phil thinks of him, then it’s about time he proves a point.

He’s done being pitied. 

It’s almost 4am when he registers that he’s actually exhausted. For a minute he stares at the time on his phone, convinced he must be seeing things, because no way has he been studying for literal hours. But his eyes do hurt and he’s seeing spots every time he blinks, which checks out. 

He must have gone into some kind of productivity trance. He thinks back to the last time he actually got shit done, sitting by Phil’s bed and summarising articles in a desperate attempt to ignore feelings he couldn’t make sense of. 

Perhaps there’s a bit of a pattern going on. 

He shakes his head. Now is not the time for soul searching. Now is the time for setting an alarm and passing the fuck out. 

So that’s exactly what he does. 

*

His head walking out of his lecture hall the next evening feels empty, as if he’s spilled every bit of criminal justice knowledge crammed into his brain over the past two days onto his exam paper, never to be seen again. Which isn’t a problem. He’s completely fine with forgetting all about it. 

“Hey, Dan,” he hears a familiar voice come up behind him and then Ruby’s at his side, her short legs struggling to keep pace with his longer strides. He slows down a little for her. “What’d you think?”

Dan looks over at her. “Think of what?” 

She raises an eyebrow. 

“...Of the exam we just took?” She says. “What else would I be talking about?”

Oh, fuck, she’s been in his criminal law class this whole time? He didn’t even know they were in the same program. 

He’s gotta start paying more attention to people.

“Right, that,” he says quickly, playing it off with a laugh that hopefully doesn’t sound too forced. “It was alright, actually. I mean, I tortured myself cramming for it, but that’s my fault for skipping out all the time.”

“You did have a really impressive absence record,” she nods. “You know, we should study together next semester. Suffering’s easier when you do it with a friend.”

He’s the suffer-alone-in-silence type, and maybe he ought to tell her that. But she just referred to them as friends, and that feels unexpectedly warm. Perhaps he’ll hold the cynicism. Historically, not a lot of people enjoy his unfiltered commentary. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and smiles a bit. They’ve already reached their dorm, which is great, as Dan’s extremely ready to have a nap. “Sounds good.”

They’re headed through the lobby and towards the stairwell when Dan looks over towards the kitchen and stops briefly in his tracks.

Phil’s stood by the kettle, facing away from him. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, except that they haven’t exactly spoken since the minor incident in Phil’s room. He’s kind of to blame for that; Phil had tried texting him a few times, and he hadn’t responded. He’d told himself that he wasn’t being mean, he was just busy studying. He’d get back to Phil later. 

He has yet to actually make good on that. 

“Uh, actually, I’m gonna grab something from the kitchen,” Dan says when they reach the stairs. Ruby’s already a couple steps up and turns to look back at him.

“Alright,” she shrugs. “See you later, then.”

Dan gives her a nod, watching her jog up for a second before turning around and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

** _phil:_ ** _ look, i just wanna say that i really am sorry. i didnt mean to make you upset. _

** _phil:_ ** _ i get it, i shouldnt have have said anything. im sorry. can we please just forget this happened? _

** _phil:_ ** _ are you mad at me? _

** _phil:_ ** _ ok, i get it. ill leave you alone now. sorry for being a dick. _

They’re all from two nights ago. Ignoring them at the time hadn’t seemed so bad. He’d still been stinging from their conversation. Now, with all the stress of Criminal Law behind him, he feels pretty bad. He frowns at his screen, slides his phone in his pocket, and walks into the kitchen.

Phil still hasn’t turned around, so Dan supposes he hadn’t heard him coming into the building. He tries to keep his steps quiet as he walks up behind him.

When he’s close enough, he slows down, tilting his head at the scene in front of him.

Phil looks the same as usual from the back: typical joggers, typical hoodie, typical mismatched socks. Typical mug on the counter in front of him.

The strange thing, the thing that makes him pause, is seeing that Phil’s holding a tea bag, gently bobbing it up and down by its string as steam rises from his cup. That in itself is unextraordinary, except that Phil, for a British person, doesn’t do a lot of tea drinking. He certainly never chooses it over coffee, when both are available. And they are. Dan knows for a fact that there’s two containers of Nescafe, one regular and one decaf, in the cupboard at all times.

But Phil’s making tea.

He shakes his head to himself, because he’s thinking too hard. It’s just a bloody cup of tea. 

“Hey,” he says quietly as he finally steps up to the counter, next to where Phil’s standing. Phil jolts a little, nearly knocking his mug over. He steadies it just in time before looking at Dan. His eyes are wide, red-rimmed, and a little puffy.

Shit.

“Oh. Hey, Dan,” Phil says. His voice sounds a little absent. “What’s up?”

Dan bites his lip when Phil actually makes eye contact with him. 

“Just coming back from my exam,” he says softly. 

“Oh,” Phil nods. “How was it?” He still seems distracted. 

“Good, actually. I studied a lot.”

He expects Phil to have a reaction to that, but he doesn’t. He just nods again and turns back to his tea. 

“Phil, I’m sorry, okay?” He sighs. “I overreacted, you were right, and I shouldn’t have ignored you, that was a dick move. Can we go back to normal?”

“Yeah,” Phil stares down into his tea, then picks it up and blows on it. “That sounds good.”

Dan watches him take a slow sip. Something’s still off. Maybe it’s self centered of him, but he’d thought Phil would’ve been a bit happier after they resolved things. 

“Phil?” He steps in closer. “There’s something else wrong, isn’t there?” 

“No, it’s fine,” Phil answers with a small shake of his head, but then he pauses. “Actually, it might not be. I don’t know yet.”

Dan waits, but Phil doesn’t attempt to explain any further. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, reaching out and lightly tugging on Phil’s sleeve. “Let’s go to your room.”

*

“Remember how I said I was scared of going home?” Phil asks. 

It startles Dan because they’ve been sitting in silence on Phil’s bed for quite some time. He hadn’t wanted to push Phil to say what was wrong, and Phil had seemed content to sit and clutch his tea, but evidently he’s ready now.

“Yeah,” Dan closes out of the game he’s been using to occupy his mind and sets his phone down. “Is that what you’re upset about?”

“No… yes. Sort of.” 

Dan nods and waits for an explanation. Phil chews on his bottom lip contemplatively before blowing out a sigh and setting his mug down on the floor. It’s mostly empty. 

“I had this stupid idea,” Phil says as he sits back up. He pulls the sleeves of his hoodie down to cover his hands. “I thought that maybe I could tell just one person from home. Like, one really trustworthy person. And then maybe it wouldn’t weigh on me so much while I’m there. Or I wouldn’t feel so alone. Or something. I don’t know. Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” Dan cuts in. He feels his stomach twisting, though, at the thought of the plan possibly going badly. If anyone hurts Phil or, god forbid, has already hurt him… well, Dan doesn’t know what he’ll do, but he’ll do something. Probably something impulsive and overly drastic, but only because he won’t just sit back and let Phil be walked over. 

He stops that train of thought before it goes too far. Phil’s not finished talking. 

Phil looks relieved to hear him say that, anyway. Dan nods at him to continue. 

“I thought about it for a long time and I decided to tell my brother,” he says. “I know he’d be able to keep it a secret. So I called him.”

Phil stops, closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply. 

“And…?” Dan prompts. 

“And I told him I had to tell him something important, and he said okay. And I told him he couldn’t say anything to anyone, and he said okay.”

He pauses again. Dan gives him a moment before prompting him once more. “...And?”

Phil drops his head into his hands. “And then I got freaked out and hung up on him. I started having all these terrible thoughts all at once, like what if he breaks his promise and tells everyone I know, or what if he gets mad at me or tells me it’s wrong or never wants anything to do with me again, what if things are never the same between us, or-” his breath hitches and he stops. Dan notices that his eyes are glistening and it breaks his heart a little. 

Phil swallows thickly and keeps talking. “It all happened so fast. It was like… all of a sudden, nothing felt real, and I couldn’t breathe. I think it might’ve been a panic attack? I’m not sure. I’ve never had one before.” 

“Oh,” Dan sighs, “Phil.” He reaches out and rests his hand on Phil’s knee. “I’m sorry. That sounds awful.”

Phil nods. “Now he keeps texting me all worried. I tried telling him it’s actually no big deal, but he didn’t buy it and now I don’t know what to do. I know I jumped the gun trying to tell him but I just backed myself into a corner. So now I have to do it.”

“Hey,” Dan whispers, tentatively moving Phil’s hands away from his face. “Phil. It’s gonna be okay, yeah? You can do this.”

Then in the blink of an eye, Phil’s pressed right up against him, clinging to him tightly. Dan clings to him right back. 

“Will you stay?” Phil asks. 

Anxiety rears its ugly head again at the question, but he nods. 

“Yeah,” he says, “of course.” 

*

It’s another while before Phil’s actually ready to do it.

They’re side by side on the bed, with Phil’s phone clutched in his shaky hand.  _ Ready _ might actually be a generous term for how Phil actually looks at the moment, but he can tell he’s about to go through with it, anyway.

“Okay,” he breathes. Dan watches him open up his contact list and scroll down to the M’s, then hesitate before tapping the screen.

Martyn picks up on the first ring.

“What the fuck, Phil?” His voice crackles over the speakerphone. It’s interesting actually hearing him talk for the first time, after hearing so much about him. His northern accent is milder than Phil’s. “You freaked me out. I was about to call mum and dad and tell them you were having a breakdown.”

Phil’s eyes widen hugely. It’d be comical under different circumstances. Under these circumstances, Dan gives an encouraging nod when Phil looks over at him.

“Uh, no need for that,” Phil says. It’s accompanied by a very obviously nervous laugh. “Everything’s fine.”

“Alright,” Martyn says slowly. “What’s this thing you needed to tell me, then?”

Dan can’t really tell over the phone, but he thinks Martyn might sound a little nervous, too.

“You’re really not gonna tell anyone, right?” Phil asks. “You promised.”

“Yeah, I promised,” Martyn says. Now this is a tone of voice Dan definitely recognises, because he’s no stranger to using it himself. The big brother tone. He knows it’s meant to be comforting. He just hopes it’s working. “I still promise. What is it?”

“Okay,” Phil clears his throat. “Um. Here’s the thing.”

Phil pauses. It’s just for a split second, enough time for him to reach out and grab Dan’s hand, squeezing it in a death grip. Dan squeezes back as much as he can while Phil breathes in sharply. “I’m gay.”

He holds Dan’s hand even tighter after he says it, which he didn’t realise was possible. It’s silent on the other end just for a short moment, but he can already see Phil turning into a vibrating mess. 

Then there’s a sigh. “Fuck, thank god.”

Phil’s mouth drops open slightly. Meanwhile Dan feels like a boulder’s just been lifted off of his chest. He unclenches all the muscles he hadn’t even realised he was tensing before giving Phil an excited nudge. 

Phil looks relieved. Confused, but relieved. “Um. What?” 

Martyn laughs slightly. “I thought you were gonna tell me something was wrong, or that you were in trouble. You sounded so scared when you called, I was worried.”

“You’re okay with it?” Phil asks softly. His eyes are brimming with tears when he looks over at Dan, and honestly, Dan might just be right behind him with the waterworks. 

“Yeah, of course,” Martyn says, like it’s obvious. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Phil blinks down at his phone screen a couple times. “Um,” he mumbles. “I don’t know. Some people aren’t.”

“No, I know,” Martyn’s voice goes softer again, back into big brother territory. “I just meant… you know, you’re my brother, no matter who you love. And I’m really glad you told me.”

“Me too,” Phil’s voice comes out a little wobbly, but he’s held himself together nicely for the most part. “I needed to tell someone. I figured you’d be cool. And, um. Not tell anyone. Even mum and dad.”

“Yeah, ‘course not,” Martyn says. “I’ll keep it to myself.”

The line goes quiet again and Phil clears his throat. “Okay, um. That’s all I really had to say.” He scoots closer, and Dan’s not sure if it’s conscious or not, but he rests a hand on Phil’s arm anyway. “I should get back to studying, and shit. But… thanks for listening, Mar.”

There’s a definite smile in Martyn’s voice when he replies. “Hey, thanks for trusting me. Love you, Dibs.”

Phil’s smile is as soft as his voice. “Love you, too.” His thumb hovers over the End button for just a second before he taps it, and then collapses in on himself. Dan doesn’t blame him. He feels like he’s just sprinted up a mountain, and all he’s done is sit here. So he reaches over and gathers Phil into his arms as best as he can, hugging him securely to his chest.

“That was great, Phil,” he whispers. “Really. I’m so proud of you.”

He can feel that Phil’s shaking, and it almost worries him. But then Phil looks up at him. His cheeks are damp with tear tracks but his eyes are full of joy.

“I couldn’t have done that without you here,” he says. His head drops down to rest on Dan’s shoulder. “Thank you. So much.”

Dan feels like there’s a huge clusterfuck of things he ought to be saying and feeling. And he’s pretty sure he’ll process it all eventually, but it’s too much at the minute. Besides, all he wants to focus on is Phil. Phil and his eyes and his smile and his happy tears, that’s what matters. So he just hums and hugs him a little closer. 

“No problem,” he whispers, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Phil’s hair. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [reblogs](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lestered/628997392854843392) are highly appreciated ❤️
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://lestered.tumblr.com/ask)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends! so, those of you who follow me on tumblr already know that i took a little two week hiatus from this story while i fell deep into the community fandom; anyone who didn’t see my posts, sorry for the wait! i’ll be going back to my friday posting schedule now. this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but i hope you all enjoy and i’ll see you next week!

He’s not sure why it’s never occurred to him before that Phil’s hair isn’t natural. Pale skin and blue eyes aren’t usually born alongside jet-black hair, but on Phil it looks so right that he supposes he just didn’t give it a second thought. The only reason he’s thinking it now is because Phil’s sleepy head is tucked over his shoulder and Dan can see— if his own tired eyes aren’t deceiving him— that his roots are lighter than the rest of his hair.

“Do you dye your hair?” He asks.

Phil stirs a bit. Dan wonders how close he was to being fully asleep. “Mhm,” he hums. “I thought it was obvious.”

Dan shrugs and slides his hand into Phil’s hair, gently messing with it just to keep himself occupied. It makes Phil sigh and relax again.

“What colour is it naturally?” Dan asks, after another little while.

“Mm... kind of mousy brown, I guess.” Phil says. “And a little gingery. Or a lot gingery, if I’m in the sun. Pretty boring.”

“Your roots are starting to show, kind of,” Dan says. He ruffles Phil’s hair a little more, for effect. Phil laughs and halfheartedly reaches up to swat his hand away. 

“I noticed, thanks,” he sighs. “I’ll have to re-dye it over break.”

Right. Break. That thing that’s happening a little too soon for Dan’s liking.

Turns out Phil was right, obsessively studying for exams was a great way to avoid thinking about going home. He might’ve even managed good grades on his final two exams, rather than just passable. And now he has to deal with what comes after.

Phil’s catching the bus to his weird little valley town tomorrow afternoon. Dan’s train to Reading is the morning after.

And then… they’ll both be home. For a pretty long time.

“You’ve been quiet,” Phil says after a while. “You don’t wanna go home either, do you?”

Dan groans and presses his head back into the pillow. “No, not really. There’s nothing there for me.”

Phil shifts so that he’s not laying over Dan’s shoulder anymore, instead propping himself up on his forearms so they can properly look at each other. “What about your friends?”

He shrugs. “‘Friends’ is maybe a generous term,” he admits. “They were more like… people who put up with me. Saved me from the bottom of the food chain by letting me get drunk with them in the woods.”

“That still means they like you,” Phil says lightly. “They wouldn’t have hung out with you if they didn’t.”

Dan just shrugs, again. “I think they liked the person they thought I was. I wasn’t really myself around them.” 

He waits for Phil to say something, but he doesn’t. All he does is keep looking at Dan questioningly. So he rolls his eyes and gets on with it.

“We’d make fun of chavs together or talk about bands. Or they’d brag about the girls they were hooking up with,” he explains. “They wouldn’t have wanted to hear all the nerd shit.”

“Did you ever try?” Phil asks.

“I…” Dan thinks about it and trails off, then shakes his head a little. “No, not really. You could just tell.”

Phil hums and settles down again and Dan stiffens a little. He knows that hum.

“You don’t believe me,” he says. “You think I didn’t give them enough of a chance. I did, okay? You’d have to know them to understand, they-”

“Hey,” Phil cuts him off. “Dan.”

Dan stops, allowing himself to deflate a little before looking over at Phil again.

“I believe you,” he says, and his tone is sincere. “I guess it’s just hard to believe someone wouldn’t want to get to know you. Or… maybe it’s hard to imagine a different version of you. Hometown Dan doesn’t sound like someone who’d wanna be my friend.”

“Maybe not,” Dan agrees. “He was kind of a twat.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You still are.”

Dan shoves him away halfheartedly. He’s not mad, especially not when Phil bursts out giggling. 

He sits up and reaches over Phil and the side of the bed for the bottle of Malibu on the floor. It’s almost empty; they’d figured they might as well finish it off before going home. He takes a long sip, closing his eyes and sighing as the liquor warms his belly, his chest, his cheeks, everything really. Then he passes it over to Phil, who takes a drink and passes it back. 

Dan takes it and idly weighs it in his hands before he looks over at Phil and sighs. “I think I’m gonna miss you.”

“You think, huh?” Phil eyes him in amusement. “Bestill my heart.”

Dan rolls his eyes, mostly at himself for his own dumb phrasing. “No, I mean… you know.” He finishes off the bottle and drops it over the side of the bed, watching it roll on the floor before looking back at Phil. He still looks amused. “Give me a break, yeah? Talking about feelings is weird for me.”

“That would explain why you barged in here and wordlessly started taking my clothes off,” Phil notes. Dan narrows his eyes a little and Phil concedes, falling back against the pillow and gazing innocently up at him. “Fine, we can be Real Men Who Don’t Have Feelings, happy?”

He nods. Part of him is happy with that, and part of him… really, really isn’t. He doesn’t completely understand why, but that just means he’s probably thinking too much. Phil’s joking, just trying to lighten the mood. Dan’s not gonna spend their last night together insistently bringing it back down, like he’s so good at doing. So he lies down next to Phil, their bare arms brushing as he burrows a little further under the duvet. 

“Thanks for letting me spend the night,” he says quietly. He realises how stupid it sounds right after he says it. They’ve been spending most nights together lately, but it’s not something they talk about or plan. It happens naturally enough after they’ve tired themselves out messing around, or if they’ve had too much to drink, or if for any other reason they’re simply too sleepy to bother walking across the hall. But tonight he’d come into Phil’s room with the intention of staying; maybe that was why he’d felt the need to ask.

“Oh,” Phil says around a yawn, like he also hadn’t expected Dan to say anything. “Sure, whatever.” He sits up a bit. “I was gonna go into your room tonight if you didn’t come here, so I could make sure you get your present before I leave.”

Dan’s heart immediately drops a little bit— it’s a strange sensation, he can’t really tell if it’s good or bad. Maybe both. “You got me a present?” He asks quietly.

He’s never exchanged Christmas presents with friends. He doesn’t know why, but it was always some sort of unspoken agreement. Giving presents to your friends just didn’t feel like a very boyish thing to do. 

_ How stupid is that, _ he thinks in retrospect. What’s so un-boyish about giving presents to your friends? The kindness? The thoughtfulness? Had they all really just decided that it wasn’t manly to be _ nice? _

“Mhm,” Phil answers nonchalantly. He’s rolled over onto his stomach now, reaching down around the side of the bed. Dan’s eyes flicker for a moment over the smooth, freckled expanse of Phil’s back before he rolls back over. He hands over a paper grocery bag with several pages of their school paper crumpled up inside. Dan has to laugh a little. 

“Yeah, I kind of forgot about the whole wrapping thing. That bit was pretty last minute.”

Dan takes the bag gingerly and bites his lip. “I feel bad,” he sighs. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t,” Phil says right away. “Feel bad, I mean. It’s not a big deal, you’ll see that when you open it.”

That doesn’t really make him feel better. It’s about the thought. Still, he manages a smile before reaching down into the bag, tossing the crumpled newspapers onto the floor and then pulling out something soft and green and yellow and brown, and… _ oh _. He turns it to face him properly when he realises what it is and feels both happier and sadder than before, if that’s possible.

“It’s a Tonberry,” he says, running his fingers idly over the soft material before looking over at Phil. Of course, it’s adorable. He can’t remember the last time he got a plushie as a gift. At some point he’d become too old, sure, but sometimes it’s nice to have something to hug. He doesn’t say anything more, because Phil keeps looking like he wants to say something else. Except then he doesn’t. Dan raises his eyebrows as a bit of a prompt. 

“I, um... was gonna explain why I got it for you, because I didn’t think you’d remember,” Phil offers. “But I just went over it in my head and it sounds lame and I’m embarrassed to say it.”

He lifts his eyebrows even further. “What?” He asks. He racks his brain for something significantly Tonberry-related that he could have forgotten, but he’s drawing a blank. He frowns and hugs the plushie to his chest, crossing his arms over it. “No, tell me. I wanna know.”

Phil sighs out through his nose. “Fine. Remember how absolutely tabled you got the first time we hung out, on move-in day?” 

He mostly remembers, yes. More clearly, he remembers the worst hangover of his life the next morning, that makes him feel ill just remembering it. But the night before… yeah, he’d been stupid drunk. Sue him, they’d only just met, and he’d needed a little… socialization lubrication. Phil, if he remembers correctly, wasn’t exactly coherent either. He nods slowly. 

“You got to this point where you wouldn’t shut up about Final Fantasy,” Phil says. “I mean, you were talking a lot before about all the other stuff we realised we both like, but the drunker you got, the less I was able to cut in, so eventually I just gave up on trying and listened to you.”

Dan does get talky when he’s drunk, but he doesn’t remember steamrolling an entire conversation. That was probably annoying. “Oh,” he clears his throat a little, “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Phil says. “That’s why I got it for you, see? I have this weirdly clear memory of falling asleep listening to you ramble about seven, and just thinking that I really, _ really _hoped we’d get to be friends. And we did, so,” he shrugs and nods at the plushie again. “Happy Christmas.”

Dan draws a blank on what to say while he’s trying to make sense of the jumble of feelings tumbling around his brain.

There’s guilt at the foundation of it all. The fact that Phil’s not only given him something, but something so sentimental and nice, and Dan hadn’t thought to get anything for him… well, he’s a crappy person, he knows that. He feels bad. That’s easy enough to make sense of.

But that’s not everything. His stomach feels fluttery, his cheeks warm and his chest like it’s full of helium, like he could float away at any moment. And… something else, he thinks as he unconsciously hugs the Tonberry a little tighter, feeling almost protective over it for some reason.

He frowns when it dawns on him. Vulnerability, that’s the third ingredient in this very confusing little emotional cocktail. He feels vulnerable, and that’s not something he likes to feel. That’s his cue that it’s time to shut down, to pull away. But he looks into Phil’s eyes and feels like he’s metaphorically anchored to his spot. 

He’s not going to shut down on Phil. He’s not going to pull away. Part of him wants to feel selfish for clinging onto Phil when he’s such a mess. Another part of him, the stubborn part, stamps that down. 

Phil bought him a Christmas present. Phil plays videogames and watches movies with him. Phil lays in bed with him when he’s sad, Phil brings him a muffin on the days he can’t force himself to get up, Phil doesn’t laugh at him for being afraid of the dark.

Phil _ likes _him. Cares about him, even. For what he thinks is the first time in his life, he absolutely refuses to run away from that.

He realises it’s been a while since he’s spoken when Phil’s eyes widen and he tilts his head, and looks like he’s about to ask Dan if he’s okay. 

“I never had a best friend before,” he blurts. He doesn’t know why that’s what comes out of his mouth, he’d just wanted to speak up before Phil could start acting concerned.

Phil quirks an eyebrow, like he doesn’t understand where Dan’s coming from either. Which is perfectly valid. “...Okay?” He says after a short pause. “Well, you’re my best friend now, so… problem solved?”

“No,” Dan shakes his head, and then decides that’s also the wrong answer. “Well, I mean, yeah. Kind of. I just meant more like, I know I get weird sometimes, when you do something nice. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like it. It just means I’m getting used to it.”

“I really don’t care if you’re weird, Dan,” Phil says matter-of-factly. Then he shifts back on the bed slightly. “So are we gonna watch Howl’s Moving Castle, or what?”

“Yeah,” Dan breathes, feeling lighter as he sets the plushie in his lap and scoots back as well to sit beside Phil.

Later he falls asleep beside Phil too, Tonberry nestled in the crook of his arm.

*

He wants to sleep on the train. The cheapest tickets he could get have him leaving so early that the dawn’s just barely broken by the time he boards. Course, his parents probably would’ve paid if he’d asked them, but he knows better than that. Helpful as it is in the moment, it almost always comes back to bite him in the ass.

So he wants to sleep. It’s too damn early for his eyes to be open. But as the train rumbles along and he rests his head against the cool glass of the window, he stays painfully conscious.

He doesn’t feel nervous, particularly, which he supposes is good. He’d expected some sort of dread, or sense of impending doom, to be plaguing him on the ride home, but he must not have given himself enough credit. He did this for 18 years, he can do it for another month. All he really feels, when he finally gives up trying to sleep and stares out the window again, is restless. Like this train ride is going to drag on forever and he just wants it to be over with; to be back home where he can at least hole up in his room and expect no one to bother him. That’s the dream, really.

He slumps down in his seat, tugs his hood up over his head and closes his eyes again.

*

He’s a little over halfway through his train journey when he feels his phone vibrate. It half-annoys him, given that he’d finally started to drift off. The other half of him is confused because, unless his grandma’s miraculously learned to text, then no one he knows would be awake at this ungodly hour. He rubs his eyes a bit and then pulls his phone out of his pocket, raising his eyebrows a bit at the message that shows on his lockscreen. 

** _eva:_ ** _ you said your train gets in at 8:30, right? just making sure you didn’t oversleep and miss it _

He’d roll his eyes, except that her concern is actually warranted. He briefly remembers a friend group trip to Paris when he _ did _miss the early train with the rest of them and have to catch a later one, meeting up with them in the evening instead. They’d given him a good ribbing about it— except Eva, who’d kept mostly quiet and a bit withdrawn about the whole thing. Their relationship was on the decline at that point already, now that he thinks about it, but still. He should’ve been able to admit back then, to her and to himself, that he couldn’t put in the effort anymore. 

He shakes the memory from his head and unlocks his phone, yawning as he types out a quick reply.

_ on the train rn, dw. be there in an hour-ish _

He shoves his hands into the pouch of his hoodie and lets his eyes slip shut again, only to reopen them a second later and pull his phone back out.

_ wait ur not meeting me at the station right? my mum’s picking me up _

His mum isn’t picking him up, but that’s beside the point. He’s in no state to see anyone from home right now, especially Eva. They’ll hang out, and he’ll be nice, but he fully intends to crawl straight into bed and sleep the day away, nothing more.

** _eva:_ ** _ ur cute, but i barely slept during finals. not getting out of bed til noon at least _

Half of his mouth twitches into a smile as he texts back. 

_ sweet dreams _

*

One high-school-angst playlist later, he’s stepping off the train at Reading station with his earphones still in. It’s actually kind of comforting, the old familiar songs. As much as they churn up that certain type of gloom he associates only with his teen years at home, they also remind him of how he self-soothed and pulled through it all. 

_ It’s just past eight, and I’m feeling young and reckless / _ _ The ribbon on my wrist says “do not open before Christmas” _

_ Appropriate, kind of, _he thinks, shrugging a little to himself as he adjusts the duffel bag over his shoulder and pauses his music. He tugs his earphones out and unplugs them from his phone, shoving them into his pocket and opening up the browser. He’d told his mum he’d do just fine getting home from the station himself; it’s only now that he’s realising he doesn’t know the number for any taxi services. 

He’s so busy looking at his phone that he doesn’t notice the guy whose shoulder he collides with as he walks past. 

“Oh, uh,” he mumbles, not really looking up as he shifts his bag onto his other shoulder. “Sorry, mate.” He keeps pacing forward until the answering voice makes him freeze.

“You better be, for not telling me you were coming home today, you twat.”

He looks up from his phone, leaving himself to stare blankly at nothing in particular and lets his arms fall limply to his sides, cheeks already heating up. Then he takes a long, deep breath in to compose himself before turning around to familiar brown eyes, dark brown curls, and an unfairly dazzling smile. Even having steeled himself, his heart starts pumping just a little faster.

“Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
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> 
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